I'll Be Seeing You
by Mistress V
Summary: It's 1951. Col. Robert Hogan is based near Washington, D.C., serving in the newly forming U.S. Air Force. It's a time of espionage, intrigue and change. But is something missing from his life? A what if look ahead. MILDLY adult as noted. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

OK, legalese: They own, I borrow and play, I put back, no harm, and no foul.

I'll Be Seeing You, Chapter 1 (MA for some adult discussion)

By Mistress V

Col. Robert Hogan pushed the door open to his base apartment and switched on the light. It was snowing outside, big fat flakes, the usual for a Virginia January. He shook out his overcoat and headed into the kitchenette, mail in his gloved hand.

The fridge was almost empty. A trip to the PX was needed, but for now, beer was still on the menu. He cracked a Hamms, poured it out and rifled through the letters. Bills, advertisements. Then a pale blue airmail envelope with a familiar East End address. Hogan smiled and made his way to the sofa.

A letter from Newkirk was always a good start to the weekend.

"Hi, old chap," Peter wrote in his breezy though perfect English copperplate script. "I know this letter will reach you after Christmas but I hope it was happy just the same."

Newkirk went on with another chapter in his new life as partner with his brother in law at an East London Pub, the Joker, as well as his somewhat nefarious doings as a "wide boy", the UK version of a wiseguy. Business was brisk and the numbers game on the side only added to the profits.

Newkirk added he'd spent part of the summer down in the south of France, visiting Le Beau. The former corporal found work amongst the newly emerging movie studios that dotted the Cote d 'Azur. In addition to his culinary and management expertise, LeBeau soon found there were plenty of wealthy single women who frequented the area and were in need of handsome escorts. Since Newkirk also looked great in tux, hed'd soon been enlisted into the escort business and had spent many a summer evening having a great deal of fun. When he wasn't busy working, LeBeau lived in a little cottage on the beach near a sleepy fishing village called St. Tropez. It was, Newkirk declared, even better than Brighton, especially since the local lasses thought nothing of having a swim au naturel.

A creased yellowed clipping was carefully enclosed. It fluttered into Hogan's lap even as he read a P.S. from his friend. "By the way," Newkirk added, "I thought you'd like to know."

An obituary from _**The London Times, **_for one Alsdair MacFarlane.

Hogan scanned the text. Viscount MacFarlane had met a sudden and untimely death in an equestrian accident the past December, on Boxing Day to be precise. He was survived by his widow, Margaret, and their son Robert.

A subarctic talon clawed its way down Hogan's back. He shivered as he got up for another beer. Thoughts raced through his brain.

Peggy.

Despite his somewhat cavalier attitude about wartime romance, and all the women he'd know, she was the one who got away. Memories washed over him unbidden and he lay back on the cushions, remembering.

The allies liberated Stalag 13 a month or so before V-E day. It had been an amicable surrender by Klink and Co., with his former charges bidding Herr Kommandant and Schultz a fond farewell before they went their separate ways.

As a senior allied intelligence officer, Hogan was whisked off to London for debriefing. His superiors then sent him to the countryside near the bases in East Anglia, where he worked with others supporting the resistance units fighting for the final downfall of Germany. The war was in its last days but offensives were still being mounted.

They'd been sequestered rather nicely at a stately local manor near Ely, Catkin Hall, home to the late Lord Robert Crafton. His Lordship, an RAF Group Captain, had died in the early days of the war but his widow, daughter and married son and family still lived on the estate.

James, the heir to his father's seat in the House of Lords (in addition to being a rather spiffing fighter pilot in his own right), welcomed the arrivals to his familial home. Having been called to frequent emergency Parliamentary debates, the young Milord was seldom around but his mother, Lady Camille, had done her best to see the visitors were accommodated comfortably. Hogan liked his digs. This wasn't your typical holier than thou manor, no sir. Everyone from the Lady of the house to the dogs in the kennels was as down to earth and friendly as they could be.

And there was Peggy, known as the Lady Margaret Crafton. She'd completed an honors degree in French and German at Cambridge in the early days of the war, so had been working in the War Rooms throughout. Despite her father's untimely demise, she'd remained at her post in London until called home to assist the group stationed there.

Tall, slim, with dark blond hair and green eyes, Peggy worked tirelessly translating messages the resistance was still sending. From the first moment Hogan laid eyes on the woman, he knew she was dangerous territory indeed and did his best to keep distance between them. She was engaged to an army lieutenant serving in the Pacific, a man whose blood was the same shade of blue as hers. And she was the daughter of Hogan's hostess. No go.

But it was spring, and despite the war raging just across the channel, the days were a long riot of green and flowers. The air was warm and spirits turned optimistic, doubly so when victory in Europe was finally achieved. Hogan remembered kissing all the ladies (on the hand or on the cheek, naturally) while Lord James popped the cork on a vintage few bottles of Bollinger champagne. Was it his imagination, or was it the sparkle of the wine in the twilight, but had Peggy's eyes caught his and lingered a little too long, just before they slowly made their way over the planes of his dress uniform?

Later that night, Hogan promised himself again to steer clear of the beautiful woman, despite her obvious interest in him. This was forbidden territory, he told himself. Can't go there, no matter how challenging or exciting it might be.

Peggy had other ideas.

"My fiancée, Alsdair, is missing presumed dead in Burma," she informed him crisply the next afternoon, when they somehow ended up having tea together alone on the veranda.

"I'm sorry," Hogan responded awkwardly, wondering where this conversation was headed.

"I'm not," Peggy replied. "Alsdair and I were slated to marry from the age of ten or so. A union of two great landholding families, you know. Never mind we had no feelings other than friendship. It was one's duty. And until and unless Alsdair comes home, I shall not think of it otherwise."

Hogan recalled nearly choking on his food. "War can make thinking a little cloudy," he began somewhat cautiously, by now realizing what was on the table besides tea and sandwiches.

"Not mine," Peggy stated. "I have never seen things so clearly in my life." She laid a hand over his own and squeezed it suggestively.

"Please make love to me, Robert" she whispered."I want you."

From there, it was no hold barred. Hogan was astonished to discover that the so called British reserve could be wiped away with a single kiss. It was, to say the least, unbelievable. Within a day, Hogan couldn't even remember any other woman.

Sex during the war had been an exciting, dangerous thing, full of whispered promises and tearful goodbyes and raw lust. Being with Peggy made it different. It was like learning to make love all over again but without the hesitation or uncertainty. Her Ladyship was an eager student and learned new ways of love with a vigor Hogan found amazing.

It transpired she was not a virgin.

"It was the war. I can't say much, because there wasn't much to say," she admitted flippantly one afternoon as they lay hidden beneath a willow tree, the sun dappling their naked skin. "He was leaving, so I did what was expected."

"And when he comes home?" Hogan recalled himself asking, the blood pounding in his ears as he let his lips slide down low on her abdomen, headed towards a secret place of desire he worshiped.

"I will do my duty again," Peggy sighed, her voice sad. Then she pulled his face up to meet hers and Hogan saw the fire and love in her eyes that matched his own. "And I will remember these days for the rest of my life, my love. Will you?" A moan tore through her as his fingers met her heat.

He showed her that he would.

Then one day it was finished. The morning news was filled with the story of the liberation of a POW camp near Rangoon, a rather haphazardly run one not unlike Stalag 13, and one of the survivors listed was Lt. Alsdair MacFarlane.

Peggy was lost to him forever. There was no need for her to tell him of the decision made, the duty owed. Her eyes, half lidded and threatening to spill over, said it all. Just before they kissed that last night they spent together, trying to store up memories for their separate lives that lay ahead.

He put in for an immediate transfer stateside, citing his aging mother. Peggy bid him a perfunctory goodbye several days later, effectively closing the book on the greatest love story known to mankind. Her fiancee was due to arrive the following week and the wedding was planned for the day after his homecoming. Lady Camille was sad the young colonel would not be there to share her family's joy, but wished him a safe journey just the same.

Hogan spent his last night in England at Newkirk's pub, trying to drink away the past few weeks. His friend advised him to declare his intentions and seek the lady's hand. Hogan declined, knowing his was a lost cause. After all, the scandal of Edward and Mrs. Simpson was still fresh in the minds of the British people. One did what one must, for duty. And besides, what would a titled lady want with a common airman, even if he was a pilot?

Newkirk disagreed and went on. "You go tell that girl you love 'er and want to marry 'er," he insisted. "I think you'd get the brass ring, mate. You said so yourself, she's crazy about 'cha. After all, this war, it's changed us 'ere forever," he said. "Things 'appened and ideas'll keep changin'. Why one day, the Prince o'Wales might even marry the woman 'e loves and keep his throne, eh?"

They laughed and drank, but the next morning Hogan crawled onto a transport and left England. He'd never been back.

The present beckoned. Hogan poured himself another beer into the colorful stein Schultz sent a few years back. The portly sergeant and his wife had opened a Gasthof in their home town and were now catering to off duty occupation forces personnel and their guests. Schultz said it was a good life, and extended an open invitation to Hogan and his former crew anytime they wished.

Hogan sighed now. Here it was, 1951. The war was over and instead of pursuing his dream of being a cargo pilot somewhere exotic, here he was still in the Army Air Corps. Or, more correctly, in the foundations of the new United States Air Force. With things the way they were over East, his background was in constant demand and the rewards were decent. The CIA was also in its fledgling days. Hogan was a popular man, it seemed, everyone wanted his input. He was told he'd be in on the ground floor for an exciting ride--his for the taking.

Women…There were a few here and there, nothing serious. The memory of what he'd had with Peggy seemed to make all the others a kind of cheap substitute, going through the motions. Physical. Love was a figment of a storyteller's imagination, not a word in the vocabulary of Col. Robert Hogan. Once, perhaps…a lifetime ago, but he'd opened his heart and look what it got him. He forced himself to banish her from his thoughts, that way the empty space in his soul didn't hurt so much.

Newkirk had sent along the wedding announcement, which showed a thin, aristocratic young army officer and his beguiling bride, pretty in a fashionable suit. A year or so later, a birth note followed for the arrival of Robert Duncan (for her own father and her husband's) MacFarlane. Newkirk stated in letters that the baby was the spitting image of his pa, a real handsome bloke. Hogan forced himself to write a holiday card to Lady Camille that year, congratulating her on becoming a grandmother again and wishing the family well, but he was numb otherwise.

From then on, a Christmas card from Lady Camille and her family found its way to Hogan's mailbox every year. No new extensions to the family on Peggy's side, but the widowed matron wrote in glowing terms of how well things were for everyone and fondly recalled the past and the brave officers who lived at the manor.

Hogan thought about that past. Besides himself, the rest of the Stalag 13 crew had done well. Klink, sensing a sweet deal despite a sour wrapping, finally deigned to marry Gertruda Burkholter once her husband Otto had been officially declared dead. The family name helped garner him a post at the local airfield, where Lufthansa hoped to fly commercially soon. Klink's family estate was now, he moaned in the odd letter, in the hands of the Kommunisten. His relations had mostly escaped the division of Germany, but the times were sad indeed.

Andrew Carter, married to his high school sweetheart and the father of two daughters, had been snapped up by DOW chemical as soon as he got back home. The company paid not only for him to get his B.S. at Purdue, but funded his Masters at MIT too, all in the hopes of building a better stick of dynamite someday.

Kinch had gone back to his alma mater, Stillman, and finally finished the degree in engineering the war had interrupted. He now worked in Detroit as a sound recording technician for a music studio, a field he told Hogan would break wide open very soon.

And Hogan? There was talk of new base duties in Europe, recon missions, all very cloak and dagger. Nothing concrete, but the prospects were exciting. Coming out of his reverie, Hogan reached over to the desk next to the couch. He fished out some writing paper and a pen, then set to his task.

"Dear Lady Margaret," he wrote carefully, chewing his lip hard. "I am so sorry to hear of your loss and hope you and your family are well. Please accept my sympathies, your husband was a fine man. If I can do anything, please let me know. Colonel Robert Hogan."

He posted the letter the following Monday on his way to the office and thought no more about it.

Spring, at least April, was making its presence known on the Eastern Seaboard when two events crossed on the same day for Hogan.

The first was a summons to England the following month to complete the establishment of an office overseeing Eastern recon missions and possibly flying some. Hogan didn't mind, it was everyday activity for him, but it was the first time he'd be headed back to London. Since.

The second was a letter waiting, on fine vellum stationery, from England.

"My dearest Robert," Peggy wrote in her flowing hand. "Thank you for your condolences. We are muddling through, as you say. Mother, James, Fiona and the children are all well. I hope someday you might be visiting these shores again. We would enjoy seeing you. You are always welcome at Catkin Hall. All my love, Peg."

But it wasn't the letter that made his heart lurch.

It was the photograph.


	2. Chapter 2

I'll Be Seeing You Chapter 2

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1. **_

Kinch paid the barkeep and took a bottle of scotch and glasses over to a corner table. He poured out two shots and handed one to his friend.

Hogan downed the drink in one gulp, then gave his glass back for a refill.

The bar was smoky and dark, filled with locals who knew a good place. "String of Pearls", a perennial favorite with returning vets, played from a well stocked jukebox in the corner. The clientele was a mix of races and sexes, in a nondescript Detroit neighborhood where Kinch lived with his elderly auntie, Betty.

Kinch let the good liquor burn down his gullet before he finally spoke to his fellow vet and good friend.

"So are you sure she's the one for you? And not that you're in love with the lady because you can't have her?" His tone was soft, concerned. "Remember what they told us all in bootcamp, marry in haste, repent at leisure."

When Hogan called to say he'd like to drop by for a brief weekend visit before flying out on a mission to New Mexico, Kinch raised an eyebrow. Something in his former commanding officer's voice said that there was a problem. And, he surmised correctly, it likely had to do with a woman.

Hogan nodded morosely, his fingers tracing patterns on the dark wood tabletop. He downed another shot, then finally spoke.

"I'm sure, but it's not just that."

He fished for his wallet, the same one he'd carried all through the war, and drew out an old photo that he'd shared with his men countless times. It was taken at the state fair when Robert Hogan was perhaps four years old. He was seated on a pinto pony, a borrowed cowboy hat perched on his head, with an old Indian standing stoically as he held the lead rope. His mother was next to him, smiling with her son at the camera.

Kinch smiled too. "Cowboy Bob," he laughed.

"Then explain this," Hogan said, his voice rough from liquor and cigarettes.

Another black and white snapshot joined the first. A somber, dark haired lad astride a pony, with a blonde haired woman, his mother to be sure, standing next to him. Apart from the backdrop and the accessories, it might have been the same boy. Kinch's eyes widened as he turned the photo over.

"Robert's first riding lesson, aged four," the script read.

Kinch whistled. "Damn, man," he said.

"I'll drink to that." Hogan's voice slurred, his eyes boring into the pictures before him. "Peggy saw my photo dozens of times when we were together. This has to be her way of saying he's mine. Why else would she have sent it?"

"Maybe she wants you to ask," Kinch replied, topping up both their glasses. It was going to be a long night. "Are you going to?"

"I don't know," Hogan muttered. "She has her life, so do I. Why this, why now?"

"She's free, Bob. Maybe free to love you again. But are you ready to love her back…and be a father? Give up one life for another? That's a pretty tall order, my friend."

The jukebox changed songs. Billie Holiday's sultry version of "I'll Be Seeing You," seemed to transport the bar back to another time and place. Hogan was silent as he listened, oblivious to the surroundings. After a long moment, he answered.

"If I don't try, I'll spend the rest of my life wondering. And I've found that's pretty empty stuff." Hogan raised his glass. "To taking a chance."

"Prosit," Kinch responded. "To chances."

vvvvvvvvvv

Hogan joined his mission to an unnamed installation in New Mexico on Monday morning. Once he arrived, he was ushered into a windowless office where he was greeted by a group of males, some from the various services, others dressed in conservative black suits.

"This is top secret, Hogan," General Martoff stated as he pushed a file, labeled "Eyes Only" across the table.

Hogan scanned the papers and frowned slightly. The name was known to him.

"We tried to get Professor Haller out of Germany twice," he stated. "And failed, both times. Peenemunde was just too far away for our forces. He's back in the East now, where he's from, why this mission?"

"He's indicated to our contacts that he's ready to leave, whatever the cost. Apparently his maters, the Russians, have some powerful new ideas they expanded upon from Hitler and he's anxious to get this information to the Allies as soon as possible."

"Where do I fit into this?" Hogan asked, debating the risk involved versus the excitement garnered.

"They've stationed him somewhere near Berlin, that we know. But until there's a possibility of his defection, we can't act. Sources say it could come at any time and we need to be prepared. The ramifications and benefits to our project here would be …well….a tremendous gain to the work in progress." Martoff met Hogan's eyes. "You know the contacts and can work them. Will you help us?"

"Only if after this mission, I can settle into running the office in England," Hogan responded. "I'm getting too old to do this kind of thing, might be a liability. Why not have me train a new generation for you? The playing field's changed, let them get into the game."

"Agreed," General Martoff said with a smile as he poured pout shots of brandy for everyone. "I was hoping you'd say that. One last ride for glory, eh?"

Hogan spent a few hours at the local trading post before catching his plane back to Virginia. He wanted to get something special for Peggy, something in addition to the gift basket of provisions he'd bring from the base for everyone. After he found the perfect gift, he noticed a storybook of Western tales and thought about her son, the son that might be his too. He added it to his purchase and headed off to find his driver.

vvvvvvvvvv

The next twenty-four hours passed in a blur for Hogan. Barely enough time to pack, read dossiers and send a brief message to Newkirk and Lord James Crafton that he would soon be in England.

He took special care with his garments, at least the non civilian ones. A major shopping expedition was order, and no PX crap this time, no, he went off to Washington's finest stores, something he almost never did. For the first time since he could remember, Hogan actually bought himself new boxer shorts and t-shirts--good quality ones--and splashed out on a brand new pair of loafers, the kind he'd worn in Connecticut, without socks, since he was a kid. He carefully packed his new garments next to his least worn out khakis and white shirt, then threw in his old navy blazer and a tie. For some reason, he told himself, he wanted to look good for Peggy, whatever the outcome. In his heart, he knew they'd be meeting.

Eventually, Colonel Robert Hogan boarded his transport to England with many question still unanswered.


	3. Chapter 3

I'll Be Seeing You 3

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1. In this chapter(and in the story) I presume that, after being back home in the East End for a few years, Newkirk's accent has come back full strength, as accents often do.**_

Hogan stared out the window at the ocean below. It was night, an almost full moon shining through a few clouds. A bomber's moon, he thought. He'd flown many a mission by the light of one.

Despite the late hour, he couldn't sleep. Maybe it was being so used to night flying. Hell, he should be sawing wood by now. He and Kinch stayed up until the night was grey, drinking and talking in the bar's back room and later over coffee in Aunt Betty's kitchen, then the lightning run to Los Alamos, then scrambling to make this flight. Hogan's questions, however, still remained unanswered. There was nothing to do but wait for when he'd see Peggy again.

His mind was awhirl with possibilities. Was Robert his son? If so, what did Peggy want? To tell him? To marry him? And if that was the case, could he be a husband and father to a child, perhaps, his own? If not, would he be allowed to play a role in his son's life? Was that something he even wanted?

Hogan let his thoughts wander back over the past fifteen years. Unlike many of his fellow airmen, he'd not hurried to marry before he deployed. Flying was everything and he couldn't imagine worrying about a wife or girl back home while on a run. It was enough thinking about his family, which he often blocked out completely until the wheels touched his crew safely back to base.

Oh, some men he'd met were almost caddish about these pre-deployment elopements. Wedded in a heartbeat, enjoying the carnal side of marriage briefly with none of the responsibilities, and safe knowing someone--in many cases almost a stranger--waited at home for later. But as one corpsman put it, "There's a crapshoot either way. I might not make it home, or she might move on. Who can tell? It's the war."

So Hogan took solace in female company as and when he could. Sometimes for duty, sometimes for pleasure, always non committal. It was easier that way, on both of them, but he was never cavalier or tried to promise what he could not. The woman was left to watch him stride back to duty, a tear in her eye and smile on her face. As for Hogan, out of sight, out of mind, except for a nice memory.

He'd thought about getting married once the war was over. When the opportunity finally presented itself, though, he swallowed hard and walked away, telling himself Peggy would no more want him then he had a chance to be accepted in her world.

Her face swam into focus, the first time he'd met her. His driver had pulled up to the front of Catkin Hall and Hogan, dufflebag in hand, saw a form bent under the hood of a jeep. After a second, he heard a female voice shout, "OK, try now!" and the vehicle sputtered into life.

"You must be Colonel Hogan," the voice's owner said warmly in greeting. "Excuse my greasy hands, I shan't give a shake right now. Come along, I'll take you to meet Mummy. This way!" It wasn't until the ageing butler snapped smartly to and murmured, "My Lady," as they entered the hall that Hogan realized his companion was Margaret Crafton, grease smudge on her cheek and all.

Peggy was as unconventional a woman as he'd met, and certainly not the stereotypical aristocratic lady. For one thing, she was educated but didn't hold it over anyone. Hogan remembered the girls he'd met in Boston from all those elite women's colleges. Peggy wasn't anything like that. Their discussions had been real world, and she never minded explaining things to anyone. She was as comfortable with herself--and others--in the war room as at a cocktail party or on a ride through the estate. And then there was her attire. She pilfered her brother's chinos and oxford cloth shirts, preferring to be comfortable as she walked the manor's grounds. In uniform, she was the picture of decorum, but off duty, she was that new breed of woman epitomized by Katherine Hepburn and Hogan thought she'd fit right into the preppy, active life of Connecticut. In an evening gown, well, his knees would threaten to buckle if she so much as glanced his way. Sex? Indescribable.

Hogan knew without a doubt he'd met his match and wanted more than anything to drop to one knee and ask for her hand. There was just that little matter of the fiancée. He'd had just about figured out a way of broaching the topic, a kind of, "What if things don't work out according to your plans after the war, Peggy?" He nervously practiced his speech in front of the speckled mirror adorning his tiny room in the old servant's quarters.

Then suddenly Viscount MacFarlane appeared on the scene, very much alive. Peggy's demeanor changed overnight from lover and friend to a distant , confused woman whose thoughts were elsewhere and scattered. For whatever reason, she'd made her decision alone. It had to be over. So Hogan shrugged his shoulders, straightened them, and walked off into the sunset of a thousand previous encounters, telling himself it was just one of those things. He knew better, but maybe if he told himself it enough, he'd believe it. In time, Peggy's memory was sequestered to a locked box at the bottom of the Sargasso Sea of Hogan's heart, never to be opened.

Until now.

"Colonel?"

Hogan looked up to see the co pilot at his side. "The captain wondered if you'd like to sit in the second chair, we're about an hour outside the base. "

"Sure." Hogan smiled and made his way into the cabin.

Second nature, to belt himself in, put on headphones and adjust frequencies. The morning light was breaking over the English coast as the plane made its final passes before beginning its descent.

Home again. Sort of.

vvvvvvvvv

Hogan took a deep breath of spring farmland air. "It still smells like England," he said to no one in particular.

Newkirk was waiting in the visitor's reception lounge and the two friends had a happy backslap before nipping off to share a brief drink at the bar. Hogan was due for a late afternoon briefing and then dinner.

After exchanging pleasantries and news, Newkirk got right to the point.

" 'Ave you heard from 'er?" he asked, puzzled at his friend's somewhat peculiar expression. He almost looked--angry.

Hogan nodded slowly. "She sent a note to thank me for my condolences," he stated perfunctorily. "And included this." He pushed the photograph across the stained bar.

Newkirk said nothing while he examined the picture, swigging his ale as he did so.

"You knew all along, didn't you?" Hogan said accusingly. "That's why you wrote he was, what, a chip off the ol' block? How could you know that unless you'd seen? What happened, Newkirk?"

The Englishman sighed and lit a cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the already opaque atmosphere. "I didn't really know, mate, an' still don't, just a guess on me own part," he began. "Right soon after you left and 'er Ladyship gets married comes an announcement she an' her 'usband are expectin' a little'un. Now me, I been livin' in the East End a'London me 'ole life and know a thing or two about women an' nippers. 'Specially listenin' to Mum and me sis Mavis speculatin' on every lass in our street over the years. Let's say, I learned t' count at an early age. An' when the papers said 'e was born, I counted."

"Go on," Hogan's voice was flat, emotionless, but his eyes glowed like coals.

"Wuzn't till I seen the picture in the fancy magazine that I knew I might be right. Ya know, the Times don't show everythin' but them society rags is full o' shots of people doin' all kinda things. There was one of 'er Ladyship and the new heir, that's what they called 'im, strollin' in Barclay Square at Easter wiv 'er mum, an' a note that the lad's christenin' was 'appening in London come June. So me, bein' the nosey bugger I am, I finds out through a friend o' mine where an' gets a day job 'elpin park all the fancy cars' inn'a churchyard. Them folks is downright fussy about their drives. I 'elped Peggy into the back seat of the Bentley while 'is Lordship was talkin' to a friend o'is. So I got a good long look at 'im. A handsome one, that he is. An' since then, the family's been in the society pages regular as clockwork, so's I seen 'im grow up, looking more like his dad every year. Leastways, I think 'e does."

"Why?" Hogan said, so quietly Newkirk barely heard. "Why didn't--"

Newkirk's eyes now blazed. He slapped the bar and faced his friend. "Why? I'll tell you why. You 'adn't said a word, not one bloody word about anythin' to do wiv' a baby. We's mates, you an' me, know all each other's secrets. I still remembers how you sat there that las' night o'yours, tryin' to convince me you didn't really love the lady. And drowin' 'er memory in all them ales." He paused, lowering his tone. "A man don't almost break down in front of 'is friend over just anyone, mate.

"I figured you'd say somethin' if you knew. But you did'n, so I 'ad to conclude she never told you. If she'ad, you'd a' been over like a shot. I know you would. An' so I 'ad a long drink and thinks to meself, why ruin three lives? "Ers, yours, and 'er 'usband's? I mean, they looked ta be making a go of things, at least at first…An what about 'im? The papers is full o'scandals 'bout nasty divorces. It was hard, mate, but for once I figgered I'd best keep me fat trap shut and 'ope for the best, that someday, you'd know."

"You said…at first?" Hogan spoke into his glass now, his eyes searching Newkirk's .

A look of disconcert flitted across Newkirk's face. "I 'ear things, mate, me friends work all over an' see all sorts a' stuff. From what they tol' me, the marriage weren't much but in name. Don't know much o' the details, just the usual codswallop: other women, drink, gamblin'. Which is right typical for that set, a marriage o' appearance. " He paused again and drew closer to Hogan. "Peggy, I reckon she knew, but she didn't know, if you get me drift. "

A vein popped up in Hogan's forehead. He looked so livid that Newkirk wondered if he'd go straight out to the crypt where Viscount MacFarlane was interred and beat up the hapless corpse post mortem.

"It weren't my place t' tell you, I'll say it again. An' remember, it were her decision t' do what she did. Will you see'er, maybe talk? " Newkirk's concern for Hogan was audible in his tone. "Find out why she sent the pic, go from there?"

"Her brother said he'd be in touch," Hogan replied, finishing his lager. "So I guess I'll have to wait and see. Lady Camille wants me to come and stay for a long weekend for a visit…"

"There ya go, but remember…it mightn't turn out how you 'ope."

"I don't have a clue, so how can I have a hope?" Hogan tried for levity as the two made their way out the door. "But don't worry, Peter, you'll be the first to know."

"Yer barstool's waitin' for ya, regardless, mate."

The two men shook hands fiercely.

"Best o' luck with your mission," Newkirk said in farewell.

"Yeah…both of them," Hogan laughed, a little bitterly.


	4. Chapter 4

I'll Be Seeing You Chapter 4

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter One. I am guessing at Hogan's age here.**_

Hogan made his way to the guest barracks and settled in. Thanks to breakfast with Newkirk--lager with fryup--plus the inevitable jetlag, he was at last tired enough for a nap. He fell into a deep, dreamless slumber, but when he awoke, for a moment he was unable to remember where he was. The breeze through the open window, of the not too distant sea and the surrounding farmland, brought things into focus, if only the military aspect.

A quick shower restored his vigor. Hogan looked at his reflection in the mirror while he shaved. He still was recognizable as the youthful (well, at least in his mind) airman he was the last time he visited. But the years left their stamp on his features since. New lines creased his forehead and played around his eyes. There was no denying the touch of silver shimmering at his temples, though his hair was as full as always.

The new uniform fitted the same, thanks to the PT facilities back at base. Hogan had always been active as a youth so keeping fit in his later years wasn't even a question for him. Still didn't smoke, though he liked a drink. But he had no intention of joining the ranks of the corpulent, wheezing brass that tottered around the officer's club back at base.

A slight tremor passed across his neck and he turned his gaze once more to the mirror. No kidding himself, according to the latest medical exam back home, he was officially middle aged. Despite being promoted to Colonel when he first reached England, at the almost unheard of age of 35, time had marched on. Not too long and he'd be staring 50 down. Most of his colleagues were well into becoming grandparents and dreaming of retirement down in Florida and here he was, still single. He'd liked the life, always telling himself there was too much else going on even to consider the domestic scenario. But now, the cool breeze that was blowing through his room seemed a bit too chilling. He shivered.

Peggy was a good deal younger than he was. She graduated from Cambridge in 1940, after the evacuation of Dunkirk but just as the Battle of Britain was starting up. No summer season in honor of her 21st birthday, filled with parties, balls and celebration. Instead, Peggy went to work in London. That fall, her father's squadron was shot down after a bombing run. By the following Christmas, she was engaged to Viscount MacFarlane, who deployed to the Pacific in the new year. Most women of the debutante set would have thrown up their hands in despair, but Peggy soldiered on. When the war ended, she became a dutiful wife and mother. Then a widow.And now, instead of relaxing into postwar British family life, she he was busy raising a son alone, at only 33. Still young enough to remember all the things that went missing during the war years, and certainly pretty enough to get out there and enjoy life. Newkirk said there were a few ladies like her in the same predicament, all being courted now by titled youngish men in need of a stepmother to their children or a wife to legitimize things. Hogan imagined her, unprotected, being circled by that pack of hounds. Then he shook his head angrily.

What, he asked himself, would a beautiful young woman in the prime of her life want with an ageing man like him? Clearly, there was a great deal of talking that needed doing, provided she even wanted him around for more than a weekend. After all, they'd been together during one of the more painful times in her life. And was Robert a living embodiment of that? Did she view him as a mistake? Or a keepsake?

Hogan pulled himself together into military mindset and strolled to the front desk. No messages, except for confirmation of his afternoon briefing and a reminder of dinner in the officer's club with a contact regarding Operation Concerto. The real work on that would begin tomorrow, but at day's end, the weekend beckoned…

vvvvvvvv

The afternoon meeting was agreeably short and to the point. Hogan's presence was wanted at the base to oversee the air power assisting covert military operations. It was specific to the East Bloc, an important task because with all the excitement in the Far East at the moment, the European situation couldn't be ignored. His possible new superiors gave him reading material, hinting that they'd like an answer by Monday at the latest. Hogan assured them he would give everything careful thought but had the feeling the 'offer' was fast going to become a 'duty assignment.'

He was still pondering the discussion as he entered the officer's club. A young corporal greeted him with a salute and directed him to the clubroom bar, where his dinner host awaited. Hogan scanned the busy room, seeing nothing but a sea of strange uniformed faces and the odd female companion.

A tap came on his shoulder. "Hogan?" a half familiar voice asked. "Is that you, old chap?"

Hogan turned and found himself face to face with Lord James Crafton, dressed in the British man's city uniform of Saville Row pinstripe suit and spitshined leather brogues. They shook hands and made their way to the formal dining room. The waiter took an order for cocktails and glided soundlessly away.

"I suppose you're wondering why I'm here," the now middle aged Lord asked, a hint of mischief playing at his bespectacled features.

"You could," Hogan admitted, sipping at an excellent gin and tonic. "Should I be saluting you?" His host was, after all, ex-RAF and a decorated pilot in his own right.

"Not officially no," Crafton replied. "Though technically, I'm still with service. Only in a loose capacity, though. My real work's with the MOD these days--something I was also doing when we met. You know," he lowered his voice a notch for effect, "counterintelligence."

Hogan raised an eyebrow and gave a slight nod, his curiosity piqued.

"They approached me when I was about to graduate from Oxford. My degree in International Relations got me in the door, then some language courses and such and eventually an office at Victoria Street. I was in Germany more times before the war than I did bombing runs during. Once things heated up I was sent to Bletchley Park, until Pa died. Then I became regular RAF to everyone, except the few who knew what I really did--as a sideline of sorts."

"You worked with us, didn't you?" Hogan asked. "The underground needed pilots--good ones." A light was beginning to dawn. "Did we ever meet before the war ended? Say near Hammelburg?"

"Not officially, no, but you might say we passed in the night. Down a long tunnel. Of course, I had another name, rank and look to me." Crafton signaled for another round of drinks and the men ordered dinner. "I knew all about your operation--as much as I was allowed to, naturally. You ran a tight ship, Hogan, which is why you're here. My operations chief asked me to recommend someone if I could and I gave him your name. If anyone can get our man out of Berlin, it's you.

"This one's an especially important prize because he was at Telmark AND Peenemunde. Once he realized just what he was working on, he escaped. Poor devil managed to head back to his home region, near Dresden, in the hopes of getting his family out towards the Black Sea. Our forces lost him then, but the Russians didn't. He now works for them. But you'll be briefed more thoroughly tomorrow, and I'll be there as well, so I shan't say any more for now." The food arrived and both men tucked in. James changed gears casually. "Mummy's asked you to join us for the weekend, if you'd like."

"That would be kind," Hogan answered, careful to put on his best poker face. "I'd enjoy seeing your mother again, she was so good to all of us during those last days of the war. "

"Nothing fancy, it'll be just Fiona, the boys and Peg and her son. Peg's looking forward to your visiting as well. Oh and by the way, did you pack a bathing suit?"

"A bathing suit? No, why? Are we sailing?" Both Hogan and Crafton enjoyed being on the water. The thought of being out with Peggy on the North Sea, alone, suddenly seemed very appealing.

"Not that I'd planned. But you see, we put in a swimming pool where the old reflecting pond was out back. The one with all those water lilies and frogs that kept you up half the night?"

Hogan nodded, remembering being kept up half the night but not by frogs. "A swimming pool? That's not what I'd expect to find at a stately manor. What made you build it?"

"Blame Fiona's brother Gareth, the ex-marine fitness buff," James said with a laugh. He sipped at his coffee and continued. " He was one of the first frogmen back in the war--trained with your chaps over near Pearl Harbor when we thought there might be an invasion at Tokyo Bay. Got a taste of the American life of pools and barbecues and brought it back. He had a point, though, swimming's important and good exercise as well. It's a tiny little attempt, but the boys love it. Gareth and his brood visit us sometimes, he lives out on the Isle of Wight and does salvage dive recovery these days."

The image of being alone with Peggy on a sailboat was now surpassed by a more impressive one of her in a bathing suit…a moonlight swim…

Hogan swigged at his brandy. "I'll grab one at the PX," he finally managed to reply, seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation away from more fantasy fuel. "And I'd like to pick up some things for your mother and the family while I'm here. Do you have any suggestions, besides chocolate?"

"You remember that too, eh?" Crafton thought a moment. "Peanut butter, of course. All the boys are mad for the kind with the nuts, crunchy is it? I'll ask Mummy when I get back what else they need and give you a ring later tonight, how's that?"

"Don't go to too much trouble," Hogan began.

"No trouble at all, it's just a ten minute spin down the road for me when we're here at home."

vvvvvvvv

Hogan went to bed early, exhausted from a long day. But he couldn't fall asleep right away. Knowing Peggy was just a ten minute drive away made the thought of passing the next day or so almost excruciating. This was in direct conflict, of course, to his practical side which reminded him that chapter in his life was over and done with.

It was a very long night.


	5. Chapter 5

I'll Be Seeing You, Chapter 5

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as Capter 1. **_

Much to Hogan's relief, the morning passed quickly. A small group convened and discussed the details of Dr. Gustav Haller. He learned the physicist's Soviet masters had the man on a very tight leash at the laboratory near Berlin. Hogan smiled inwardly when he read the scientist was initially set up to work at Colditz Castle before his current lab was ready. Despite the increased danger of penetrating further into East Germany, he had to admit, that would have been quite a trip. He'd heard many tales from fellow PO W officers about Oflag IV-C.

An old photograph showed an ageing, studious looking man in his 60's. A man whose family had been killed in the last days of the war and now, apparently, had nothing to lose. Hogan soon learned about Dr. Haller's expertise, the importance of the mission, and why he was needed. An alternate identity, as a support employee to the occupation forces, Robert Hancock, was embodied in his new passport. His trade was officially listed as mechanic, not too far off base given his proclivity to fix things in his spare time. Everything else, however, was to be divulged only at the time the operation went live. According to the latest communiqués from Berlin, that could be at any time.

"This will be a dangerous mission," Maj. General Thomson said, without emotion. "I'm giving you the chance to opt out now if you wish, Colonel Hogan."

"I'm fine with it," Hogan reassured the older officer "It's not like this is new to me."

"But you yourself said the playing field, and the players, have changed. Be prepared for having to do things differently, sudden changes of plans, thinking creatively under pressure." And dying, or worse yet, being captured, but no one said that.

"Like the old days," Hogan replied, feeling the old adrenalin rush start to wake from its slumber. "But just one question. Why these code names?"

"Our operative in West Berlin has a musical connection and picked them himself," Lord Crafton replied.

Music? Hogan wondered just what the operation would involve.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Hogan spent his lunch break shopping at the PX. He easily found a pair of not too ostentatious bathing trunks, navy with a white trim. Then he approached an older woman clerk for advice.

"I need these items made up as a present," he said, handing her the notes from Crafton's call.

"Oh yes sir, a gift basket! I've done plenty of them, to be sure. When will you be coming back?" The woman's beaming face told Hogan the items requested were still very much appreciated by the locals.

They arranged a time, then Hogan started back to his meeting. He stopped at the druggist's section before he left and made a discreet purchase. Foolish or optimistic, he was ready.

vvvvvvvvv

The afternoon meeting was smaller, and far more serious. Hogan found himself the only military man (at least officially) present. Lord Crafton introduced his chief of operations Lord Sutcliffe, a strategic advisor, and two soberly clad gentlemen from the American CIA.

"We'll get right to the point, Hogan," Lord Randolph Sutcliffe began. "This operation is a joint one between your agency and ours. Officially, the military is not involved in any capacity. Too much chance for exposure if that comes out. And with the way things are in our other posts right now, we must keep as low a profile as possible."

"The Brits will get you out of Berlin. Once you're safely back here, our team will take over for debriefing and transport of Dr. Haller to the U.S.," one of the suits added.

"It's going to be quite risky, Hogan," Crafton continued. "West Berlin is full of agents from the East. And after all the recent trouble, we don't know precisely how informed they really are. That's why everything is kept under wraps until we go live. Our operatives each know a piece of the puzzle, but until it's set in place, there's nothing else anyone can unearth. "

"So I can trust no one, right?" Hogan was beginning to see the puzzle picture quite clearly.

"About sums it up," Stuart Palmerston, the previously quiet strategic advisor, admitted with a hrrmph. "Your German will need to be impeccable, right down to the regional accents. You won't be saying much, but we'll have you meet with a language coach next week for some brush-up. As I recall, you speak it somewhat fluently from your days at Templehoff and at the Stalag."

"I do, though it's fairly rusty. I appreciate the assistance." Hogan put in time during the Berlin airlift, as had many veteran pilots.

The second suit now began speaking in a slight drawl. "You need to understand, Hogan, if you or your contact are caught, both governments will disavow any connection with the operation. It's the only way we can keep things going in the East Bloc right now. If you're captured, there's not much that can be done. Officially, that is."

"I understand." Hogan knew this meant that an underground network was in place, on a need to know basis only.

A few more strategies were discussed before the meeting broke up. Hogan then stopped by the PX for his gift basket, which the clerk had done up quite prettily with cellophane and bows. He glimpsed several of the items through the wrap: coffee, bacon, white flour, sugar, peanut butter. Lady Camille would be quite pleased with the present, he thought.

Hogan headed towards the parking lot where James Crafton waited to transport him to Catkin Hall. He found he was more anxious now then he had been during the entire briefing. The prospect of the unknown regarding a mission was one thing. Regarding Peggy was quite another matter.

_**Note: By the time of this storyline, the British government was involved in the mess from the Cambridge Five scandal (secretly, of course). It's likely operations throughout the Eastern Bloc were lidded down even more securely as a precaution.**_

_**Britain was under food rationing until 1954, so gifts of edibles from U.S. visitors were always welcome in local households.**_


	6. Chapter 6

I'll Be Seeing You Chapter 6

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.**_

_**I have Hogan flying into RAF Lakenheath, which in May 1951 had just been placed under the control of the Strategic Air Command (prior to that it was run as part of U.S. Air Forces in Europe). It also served as point of departure for those headed to Berlin during the airlift.**_

James Crafton helped Hogan stow his luggage in the boot of an ageing , two seated Aston Martin roadster. The men folded the top down and snapped the heavy canvas into place so the warm late afternoon weather could be enjoyed.

"So to be honest, old man, I expected that you'd have been promoted by now," Crafton remarked as they queued to leave the base.

"I've had a few offers," Hogan admitted. "But I'm too young to be sitting behind a desk rotting away. Flying's it for me, always has been. There's a saying, the higher you sit, the less you fly."

"Sorry if we yanked from the clouds," Crafton said with a grin. "Believe me, it's only temporary."

"I suspect the new assignment they're dangling in front of me could mean less flying." Hogan shrugged. "I just have to wait and see."

The roar of the engine made further conversation impossible, so Hogan leaned back and took in the passing vista of fruit orchards, green pastures dotted with fluffy sheep, and farmhands working the fields. Although the North Sea was a good hour's drive east, the air still held a faint tang of salt and brine. The mixture of scents was a welcome change after hours in stuffy, smoky , windowless meeting rooms.

They sped down back roads towards the estate and gradually, half-remembered scenes from Hogan's past came into view. He noticed a grove of willows off to the left, near an old caretaker's stone cottage. That had often been their trysting spot. The repressed images he had of his times with Peggy, of kisses, moonlight, whispers and skin, came roaring back into his brain. Hogan found his head momentarily spinning so turned his gaze straight ahead and took a deep breathy of the country air.

The car maneuvered onto a lane, crossed a small hill and then crunched up a long gravel driveway at the end of which stood Catkin Hall. "Well, here we are, then," Crafton announced as he parked in front of the steps. "I expect everyone's out back near the pool, taking advantage of this spell of fine weather."

The heavy front door swung open, aided by the same elder butler Hogan remembered from his prior visit. Lady Camille stood in the marble hallway, looking as matronly regal as ever. She extended her hands and moved forward warmly.

"Colonel, how splendid it is to see you ." She giggled through an obligatory buss on her powdered cheek. "You are looking well."

"I've told you before, ma'am, when I visit, it's Robert," Hogan replied, his eyes merry. "And you look much too young to be a new grandmother--again!"

"You flatter me, Robert, but now I insist that you call me Camille!" Lady Crafton linked arms with Hogan and walked him towards the large living room that opened out on to a backyard terrace. "Everyone's out splashing in the pool. The boys have grown webbed feet, I swear! Come along, let's get you introduced, then you can get settled."

Outside, three boys were taking turns dive bombing into a somewhat murky, postage stamp sized swimming pool. Hogan noted they all wore part of a frogman's gear, be it flippers or a mask. Likely the legacy of Fiona Crafton's brother, he thought.

Before Lady Camille could begin to speak, the smallest of the three lads took a running leap and cannonballed squarely into the water. "Bombs away!" he yelled. The resulting spray showered the family matron and her guest.

"Oh, dear," Lady Camille sighed. "Boys? BOYS!"

The splashing stopped abruptly. "What is it, Gran?" the eldest asked, somewhat fearfully.

"This is Colonel Hogan. He was stationed here at the end of the war and is an old friend of ours. He'll be staying the weekend, so I'll expect you all on your best behavior!" Although Lady Camille's tone was pleasant, Hogan could hear the steel just beneath.

The trio eyed each other. "Yes, Gran," they replied almost in unison. A moment later, a vigorous game of aquatic keep away began.

"Hello, Colonel, I mean Robert." Lady Fiona appeared and kissed her husband, then turned to greet Hogan. "And may I present the newest member of our family, Lucy. Say hello to the nice colonel, darling."

Lucy regarded Hogan for a moment, thumb firmly in her mouth.

"Please sweetie, do it for Daddy?" James Crafton entreated.

"Hello," Lucy finally said, then hid her face against her mother's shoulder.

"She's a bit shy," Fiona offered by way of apology.

"That's OK, my nieces and nephews all were at one time or another," Hogan said with a laugh.

He gazed past the couple and saw Peggy immediately. She was seated on a wooden deckchair, having an earnest conversation with the cannonball boy. This could only be her son, he surmised. He watched as Peggy stood up and walked the boy back to the pool, where she cheered as he dive-bombed once again. Her skin was darker than that of her sister-in- law, a healthy golden brown. But Hogan knew it wasn't because she embraced the explanation Coco Chanel 's set hinted at, of a life of leisure. Peggy simply liked being outdoors.

The vision in Hogan's sights made its way over, a smile on her face. She pushed her sunglasses up on her head and he could see her eyes, really rather an ordinary green but beautiful to him nonetheless, that he'd been so drawn to in the first place.

"Hello Robert," she said softly. "How lovely to see you again after all these years."

Hogan accepted a kiss and was stunned to feel her lips part beneath his. For a split second, an inquisitive tongue searched for his. Or was he dreaming? He pulled back and searched her gaze with his own. If he'd had any doubts that Peggy would choose not to remember their past, the brief, smoldering look he got incinerated them.

"Colonel Hogan?" A juvenile voice interrupted his thoughts. It belonged to James Crafton's eldest son, William, who was 11. "Could you help us with our submarine model?"

Hogan allowed himself to be pulled away by the group of boys. "I'm not a navy man," he tried to protest, but to no avail. He looked back at Peggy over his shoulder and saw her laughing silently.

"Later," she mouthed.

Over an excellent dinner of local offerings, Hogan and the family played catch up. Afterwards, the adults adjourned to the terrace for coffee while the youngsters demonstrated their very latest attempts at glider models. Hogan was, naturally, asked to assist with new construction over the weekend, a task he happily agreed to.

He was very pleased to have another opportunity to watch Robert at play. The boy was tall for his age, but then he'd sprouted like a weed around then as well. Hogan was almost certain the boy was related to him. His hair was brown, with a few streaks from the sun thrown in. That chin was unmistakable, those eyes almost as dark as his own.

Hogan thought a moment as he surveyed the other adults. Something about the eyes. Robert's were definitely brown. But his mother sported a green set, the same hue as Lady Camille's. He'd seen the wedding picture in the clipping Newkirk sent over , and even black and white tones showed that her husband's own eyes were pale--either blue, grey or green, most likely. James Crafton had, from what Hogan learned during his extended stays in Germany, "Baltic Blue" orbs, a deep blue grey. So where in the gene pool did brown come from, if not from him? Lord Robert, possibly, though Hogan never met the man. He made a mental note to check for any photos of the late lord that might be on display around the house.

The boys soon barged in on Hogan's speculations, demanding to know the very latest about American baseball. It was a sport they followed with interest thanks to the proximity of the airbase. The trio was quite knowledgeable and once again, Hogan was pleased that Robert and his cousins seemed to have a close, amicable relationship. The discussion was animated and Hogan genuinely enjoyed joining in.

"Come along, you three," Fiona chided gently after a bit. "Let poor Colonel Hogan catch his breath. It's nearly your bedtime."

"But Mum, the sun's still out," William, the elder statesman of the triumvirate, tried to plead on their behalf. It was true, the May sunset had yet to happen and it was almost 9 o' clock.

Peggy moved through the group and neatly picked up her yawning offspring. "William," she admonished playfully, "you say the same thing every night. Now let's get upstairs, sharpish. You'll all be up at first light, anyway."

James Crafton brought out some locally made apple brandy and sat down opposite Hogan. "Between baths and messing about in their room, it'll be another hour before they're asleep," he observed. "That lot keep their quarters rather like a military fort. It's a regular combat zone in there."

"They all seem to be close," Hogan observed. Part of him wondered, did the man know anything? And if so, what were his feelings about the matter? Their affair had hardly been a complete secret. Discreet, yes, but not entirely under wraps.

"Yes, they always have been. Robert and John are thick as thieves and they love a good adventure. Only a year and a half between them, you know. William's at that age where his interest in the opposite sex has started to show, though he'd be the last to admit this. At any rate, I'm sure those three will have us out chasing rabbits with the hounds at the crack of dawn. That comes rather early here, so be prepared." James paused a moment, then went on, his gaze fixed on the western horizon. "It's good of you to get so involved with them right off. They've quite taken to you. Males are a tad few on the ground around here. I'm away in London a good deal of the time, which is hard on the boys. And Robert, well, he really doesn't recall much about his father."

The statement might have been casually made, but Hogan sensed otherwise, that it was a loaded double entendre. He glanced at Crafton. "Oh?" he answered, as casually as he could.

"Alsdair's family was from up near Inverness. Big estate, deceased father, eldest son. You know, bit like my own situation. But the distance was much greater in his case." James met Hogan's gaze, his eyes non committal. "I imagine Peg will fill you in on that, though." He glanced at his watch. "Well, I'd best go see what Mummy's up to. She's glued to the wireless this time every evening for her favorite program. I'll look for you tomorrow, then, eh?"He disappeared into the house, leaving Hogan alone with the sunset.

Hogan sat and contemplated what he'd just heard. Clearly, James knew more than he let on, but his hint at Peggy filling in the details surprised Hogan. The two siblings were a good ten years apart, and when he'd last visited, Lord James was busy with his own duties and seldom on the scene. He'd not seen any real signs of closeness between the two, but he hadn't been paying much attention last time. Obviously, the closeness he'd seen in their children extended to their own relationship as brother and sister.

"Hello." Peggy's soft voice cut into Hogan's musings. "May I join you?"

"Certainly." Hogan indicated a seat opposite him and was pleased that Peggy eschewed it and sat down next to him on the bench instead. "The boys asleep?"

"They will be eventually. We left them telling ghost stories under the blankets." Peggy smiled softly. "I'm glad you joined us, Robert."

"How could I turn down you mother, and miss out on that dessert, what's it called?" Hogan kept things light, recalling Newkirk's advice. She'd tell him when--and if--she wanted to.

"Charter custard. And yes, Mummy made certain it was on the menu for tonight. She remembered how much you enjoyed it last time." The baked apricot custard was a regional specialty.

"Well, I'll need an extra long walk tomorrow." Hogan had accepted seconds, at Lady Camille's insistence. "I'm not the skinny ex POW she tried to fatten up on my last visit, you know."

"I know." Peggy sighed.

Something in her tone indicated the conversation might be changing. Sure enough, Peggy turned her eyes to his. Her fingers reached out and traced Hogan's brow, then his cheek. "The years have been kind to you, Robert. You look well."

Hogan caught her hand and kissed it properly. "You're just as beautiful as I remember, Peggy. It's good to see you. It's been…a long time."

"Too long. And I've missed you so these past years." Peggy's eyes filled and for a moment, it looked like she would start crying. "Especially lately. Things have been…difficult." She turned to Hogan, her expression pleading. "Oh Robert, there's so much to talk about. But for now, I need to laugh again. The way I laughed back then." She settled herself against his shoulder and continued. "Please, tell me about the wonderful and silly things in America and make me laugh. You always could."

Hogan carefully draped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. "I'll try," he promised.

It was late when Peggy walked him upstairs. Hogan had kept things light, on purpose, and was pleased to see her begin to resemble the lighthearted woman he once knew. And they laughed, both of them, for hours.

"Give me a moment," Hogan asked when they got to his door. He swiftly went inside and unpacked the presents he'd bought in New Mexico.

Peggy was waiting in the hall, a curious expression on her face. "Whatever have you got there?" she asked, seeing the prettily wrapped packages.

"For you," Hogan replied, handing her a small, slim box.

"Oh, my! How lovely! Where did you find it?" Her long fingers drew out a fountain pen, inlaid carefully with a design of turquoise and silver.

"I had to travel before I came over, and I figured a busy mother could always use a good pen," Hogan said. He held out the second parcel. "I also got something for Robert, if that's all right."

"Of course it is! " Peggy smiled at the colorful storybook. "He's mad about cowboy films, you know. Must get that from me. How many times did we see 'Stagecoach' at the base? Three?"

"Four." Hogan remembered taking Peggy to see the somewhat old film four straight evenings. "I thought you might like reading it together at bedtime."

"He'll enjoy that, he's reading well." Peggy paused and looked up at Hogan. "Or perhaps you'd like to read with him?" she said slowly.

"I-." Before he could finish, Peggy was kissing him. Not like the kiss they shared earlier, but the kisses he remembered so vividly only in his dreams. They clung together in the hall, lost in each other.

Hogan attempted to speak once more after they broke apart. "I--," he began again.

Peggy laid a single finger over his lips. "Now's not the time, my love. Tomorrow. I promise, tomorrow. And the day after, and the day after that, if you'll let me. But for now, I'll say goodnight…and…" Her voice stuttered to a stop. Neither one of them had actually said the words back then

"Sweet dreams," Hogan improvised, kissing her chastely this time. Clearly, there was a great deal for them to catch up on.

He watched her disappear down the hall into her room, one last kiss blown his way before she closed the door. When he was certain she was inside, a long exhale escaped him. It was time for bed, a long day was ahead.

For both of them.

_**Note: The Charter is a baked custard topped with dried apricots that dates back to the 18th century, though its exact ingredients weren't known until much later, according to my Observer Guide to British Cookery. I can state that it's yummy!**_

_**East Anglia has long been a center for agriculture in the UK. Its offerings include turkeys, vegetables, apples and pears, lamb, seafood, fish and Coleman's Mustard.**_

__

_**My father worked in Albuquerque before WW2 and gave my mother just such a fountain pen, which I now treasure. I figured a pen is a nice gift that's neither too impersonal nor personal.**_


	7. Chapter 7

I'll Be Seeing You, Chapter 7

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.**_

The morning did come early, Hogan thought as he gazed out over the landscape through his open bedroom window. The first birds had just sung. To his amazement, the clock showed 04:15, but he wasn't tired in the least. The dawn air swirled around him, as effervescent as champagne and as promising as the new day.

"Good, you're up, old man," James Crafton said as he met Hogan in the downstairs hall. "Our presence has been requested on an expedition of the utmost importance. The boys are out waking up the dogs, so we can get some coffee first. Mrs. Benson's always up before the lark. We tend to be early risers around here."

"Thanks," Hogan replied, accepting the brew, served prettily in an old Wedgewood cup. "This sure beats reveille any day."

"Sleep well?" Crafton enquired pleasantly.

"Like a rock. Must be this country air and good food."

"And good company, eh? Well, let's be off, the rabbits won't wait."

The pair made their way out into the soft country morning and were immediately surrounded by three excited boys and a half dozen equally keen Springer Spaniels.

The ladies of the house were all waiting on the terrace when the hunting expedition returned an hour or so later. The boys rushed forward to their grandmother and presented her with a bouquet of wildflowers.

"We didn't manage to catch any rabbits, Gran," William admitted, a bit ruefully. "So these will have to do."

"They are the perfect addition to the breakfast table," Lady Camille told her grandsons. "Now pop into the kitchen and have Mrs. Benson put them in a pretty vase. And she might have a scone for you, too. I'm certain all your expeditioning was hungry work!"

"Thanks, Gran!" the boys chorused, racing through the open French doors.

Peggy moved close to Hogan and handed him a cup of coffee. Her smile was seductive and full of promise for the days ahead.

"Much appreciated," he said pleasantly, then lowered his voice. "Consider yourself kissed."

"Only kissed?" she teased.

James Crafton came to the open door, a frown on his face. "There's a call for you, Colonel Hogan. Best take it in the study."

Hogan shrugged as he put down his cup and saucer. He went inside and was surprised to find himself in the room with Crafton.

"I'm afraid we've had some important news, sir," the now acting RAF officer stated. "The word just came down. Haller's due to be moved further east on Monday."

"How much further east?" Hogan asked.

"Remember all those jokes about the Russian Front?" Crafton sighed. "Apparently we've one shot and one shot only, this evening in East Berlin. He's attending a gala at the opera house, some visiting stars from the Kirov opera and orchestra. A late celebration commemorating the end of the WW2."

"You mean the Great Patriotic War," Hogan corrected, using the term the Soviets referred to when discussing the hostilities. "What do I have to do?"

"Your driver is in transit here and you'll be briefed on the way to the base. You'll just make the morning mixed transport to Templehof, so it's rather seat of the pants." Crafton's expression was grave.

"You don't know anything else?" Hogan prodded, genuinely concerned.

"Afraid I don't. It'll be a series of transfers, to protect the underground network in East Berlin. It's imperative we do. The Soviets are watching everything with a microscope. Our man has this one chance out, so we need to move." Crafton paused and extended his hand. "Good luck, Robert."

Hogan slapped the man's back as they shook, knowing he would not have called him by his proper name unless things were serious indeed. "Thanks, James. Do I have time to say goodbye to Peg?"

"Just. I'll fetch her." Peggy's brother hurried off.

As he watched the man depart, Hogan glanced at the large portraits adorning the study walls. He started.

Not one of the Lords Crafton portrayed had brown eyes.

"It's bad news, right?" Peggy asked matter-of-factly as she joined Hogan.

"Yes, I've been called to duty unexpectedly." Hogan took the woman into his arms, knowing she was trembling despite her show of bravado. He kissed her and continued. "It's essential that I leave immediately." His heart grew heavier with each word. "I don't know when I'll be back, Peg."

"It's not like I've never been in this position before," she began half-heartedly.

Hogan kissed her hungrily. "No," he said, "this time it's different, Peg. I will be back, I promise, And when I am, there is something very important I need to discuss with you. Will you be here?"

"Robert, what are you saying?" Peggy let her arms trail around his neck but her tone was uncertain.

"I love you, Peggy. I should have said that years ago but I didn't. Now I'm making up for it. I love you and when I get back, we need to talk." He kissed her again, his kiss full of passion and desire and promise.

"But there are things I need to…" Peggy's voice trailed off as Hogan put a finger to her lips.

"We can talk about that tomorrow, or the day after or the day after that if you want, Peggy. I love you, that's what matters."

"I love you too, Robert," she whispered, her eyes sad. "Come back to me. And stay."

"Your driver's here, sir," Crafton interrupted.

Hogan made his way down the hall, clinging to Peggy as though she was the last life preserver aboard the _Lusitania_. They kissed once more, and then he was gone out the door.

Peggy finally burst into tears. "I can't lose him now, we've just found each other again," she sobbed into her brother's neck.

"There, there, Peg," James soothed. "I promise, sis. I'll bring him back to you."

Hogan's driver was one of the two black suits he'd met the day before, except he now sported all black casual gear and looked like an out of work commando from Stalag 13. He introduced himself by his last name, Agent Nelson.

"We'd hoped to have more time to run the original operation," he explained as he sped the car back towards the base. "But this was an unexpected opportunity, so you're live."

"What can you tell me?' Hogan asked, wondering what he was in for.

"Operation Concerto's a rogue idea even on a good day. Your code name is Rondo and your contact is Scherzo. All I can tell you is be prepared to switch nationalities, occupations and appearances very quickly. You might be three separate persons in as many hours. If all goes to plan, you'll be back at base before midnight--with Haller."

Hogan let the information sink in. "Any other advice?" he said.

"Say as little as possible and let the operatives guide you. You have to trust that they'll lead you in the right direction. I know this is very different to what you did at the stalag, but believe me, it's the only way to go here. And you'll see why."

"What are our chances of success?" Hogan continued, not mincing words.

"A crap shoot, but the jackpot's worth it."


	8. Chapter 8

I'll Be Seeing You, Chapter 8

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.**_

_**1951 Berlin had neither a wall (that came much later, though the reasoning behind it was already being discussed) nor its own military (the Soviet Red Army patrolled the sector; the People's Army was formed in 1956). It was a divided city surrounded by East Germany, and the western side was recovering better than its eastern sibling.**_

_**People I met who lived through this time likened Berlin to the Wild West. Crossing between the two halves of the city wasn't quite as difficult, compared to post-wall, but it all depended on what part of the city you happened to be living in--and who was in charge. Most of the important places I will mention from here on did exist, in one form or another.**_

Robert Hancock, an American civilian support employee for the Allied Forces in West Berlin, watched as the city appeared below. The transport plane made its final pass and banked as it prepared to land at Templehof.

Hogan recalled the last time he'd flown into this airport. During the Berlin Airlift, he'd done scores of takeoffs and landings with crews assembled from all over. He remembered the seriousness as well as the banter among the cross section of international airmen, most of which had served in WW2.

"Welcome to Berlin, Mr. Hancock," the passport control officer said as he looked over Hogan's passport. "Have a safe and enjoyable stay." And with those words, Hogan was free to enter the city. He checked his watch and adjusted the time locally. 11 am.

He made his way to the men's room and ducked into a stall. Carefully, he removed the short workman's style jacket he wore and turned it inside out, so the muted, earth toned plaid fabric replaced the dark blue wool. He transferred his wallet, which held U.S. dollars, Russian roubles and Swiss francs, to an outside pocket. Then he removed a pair of nondescript looking bifocal specs. His eyesight was fine, this was just for appearance. Satisfied with his new look, Hogan made his way out the door and down the corridor towards the exit and the taxi stand.

"Taxi, sir?" a man asked after a few minutes. His accent was heavy.

Hogan scanned the driver's hat and saw what was needed. "Yes," he replied curtly.

"Are you staying in Berlin long?" his chauffer asked conversationally. "There is a BFC Viktoria match this afternoon."

"How is the team doing?" Hogan responded. "Though I'm not really a football fan."

"The season has had its ups and downs." The driver handed a newspaper over the seat. "There is an interesting bit of news on page 19."

Hogan swiftly opened the gazette and found an identity card for Jurgen Weiss. A plumber. He carefully replaced the new identity with his old one and slid the paper back over the seat.

"An interesting bit of news, indeed," he commented.

"We will have to wait to see how things turn out," the driver replied. He slowed the cab to a stop and pointed to a shop near the corner. "There is your destination, sir. "

Hogan got out of the vehicle and paid his fare, concealing dollars inside the mark note. "Danke," he said in his best German.

The shop was unmistakably a tool store, one frequented by tradesmen of the neighborhood. Hogan looked around, noting that rubble and debris were still visible in the area. He'd been warned that the postwar landscape was depressing, and the small glimpse only confirmed this. And it was going to be worse once he headed towards the city center and the eastern sector.

A bell on the door announced his arrival. Hogan gave a surreptitious glance to the shop and was relieved to see it was empty, except for an older man behind the counter who looked to be the owner.

"Ahh, Guten Morgen, Herr Weiss," the proprietor beamed, waving Hogan forward. "I have your tools here, just as promised. They have been serviced to the highest standard. And just in time, Herr Muller has called with a most urgent request. It seems a pipe has burst at his building and the tenant is anxious."

The man handed over a beat-up leather carryall, which Hogan opened to inspect. Tools--and two small, empty pistols, carefully concealed near the bottom. "Excellent, thank you," he said, his German passable.

"These old pipes," the owner continued, shaking his head. "Now here is the address, you'd best hurry right over. Herr Muller will be waiting for you, pacing as he usually does. Give him my regards, will you?"

"I will." Hogan once again handed over a mark note that concealed other currency. "Good day to you, sir."

It wasn't until Hogan was back on the street that he realized he didn't even know his benefactor's name. But that was part of the operation--anonymity wherever possible. He glanced at the slip of paper, which was printed with careful English instructions, and hurried down the avenue towards his rendezvous with Scherzo.

Her Muller was waiting, pacing just as described, in front of a dilapidated looking apartment building that had once seen better days. It was from another era, with a high arched entry and courtyard that once served as livery for the horses who ferried tenants around in carriages. That was all gone now, and the once bustling stables were in the process of being converted into housing.

"Ahh, THERE you are," Muller grumbled, extending a hand. Hogan shook it and noticed the man had lost several fingertips to frostbite. "That music teacher has been badgering me all morning, he's afraid the ceiling will collapse on Frau Burgmann's nosey old head and we can't have that, can we?" His eyes slid toward a ground floor flat and Hogan knew the walls obviously had ears here.

"I am glad you could come on such short notice," he continued as they walked to the staircase. A door cracked, ever so slightly, as they passed. "I am an old man," Muller went on, loudly, "and can no longer work with the pipes as I once did." He wheezed and coughed as they climbed, whether for effect or out of genuine ill health Hogan could not tell. "But everyone still thinks I can work miracles."

The banter went on in the first floor hallway. Muller rapped on the door of apartment 1B. Music was playing from inside, Bach by the sound of it. "The plumber is here, so we can get to work now," he announced.

The concerto stopped abruptly and a moment later, the door opened to reveal a tall, thin young man whose bearing was almost Prussian in its dignity. "About time," he replied imperiously with a loud snort. "Come in."

Once the door was closed, Muller made his way into the kitchen and indicated Hogan should follow. He took the bag from Hogan's hand and let it drop with a loud thud on the floor, then grumbled even more loudly, ordering Hogan to get to work.

Hogan, confused, moved to do what he was told, but the younger man's hand caught his shoulder . He shook his head, a finger to his lips, and the two watched Muller begin clanking on a pipe beneath the chipped kitchen sink. The older man was clearly enjoying his role.

"You are Rondo?" the younger one asked, kneeling to remove the unloaded pistols. His English was excellent, virtually unaccented.

"And you must be Scherzo," Hogan replied, somewhat relieved that things were going to plan.

"Come," Scherzo said, indicating a table and chairs. "We can speak freely, Klaus will make enough noise to keep that old busybody occupied."

"Is she dangerous?" Hogan asked, accepting a cup of tea and a small ham roll.

"It is doubtful, but in this city, one never knows. Displaced families are everywhere and there are only too many citizens wiling to trade information in the hopes of seeing lost loved ones again." Scherzo nodded at the old building super. "And Klaus there, he is completely safe. He has no love for the Soviets after being at the front. He'll be your guide out of here when we're through."

Muller swore lustily and banged on the sink. "Come ON, man, are you a plumber or an imbecile?" he yelled.

"So, what's the plan going to be?" Hogan was wondering what lay ahead.

"Ahh. It is rather…unusual. But I have heard from sources that you enjoy…dressing up a bit and masquerading?" Scherzo raised an eyebrow.

Hogan began to wonder if he knew the man. He seemed oddly familiar, yet different. Had they worked together in the underground? He was young, but many agents had been. "You did?" he said coolly.

"The missions you mounted are discussed still. And let us say, Papa Bear is not a children's fairy tale character in our circles." Scherzo paused and drew out a map which had obviously been published before the war. "We are headed here," he said, pointing to the State Opera House.

"That's in the middle of the eastern sector." Hogan studied the old paper. "In the historical part of town."

"The very heart of our city," Scherzo agreed, his tone sad. "And right down the street from the Soviet Embassy. A rather bold venture, but necessary as time is short. Dr. Haller knows he will be approached by operatives during the interval of tonight's performance. A…scenario will play out and the agents will be known to him by a sign."

"Who are these agents?" The intrigue was beginning to get to Hogan.

"You will be one, and the other will be introduced to you once we get to our final destination." It was clear as little information as possible was being passed.

"But how will we get into the east sector and not be made? My German is so rusty it clanks like an old chain." Hogan shook his head. "I'm beginning not to like this."

Scherzo sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Please, trust me. Everything is set in place already. There is no need to concern yourself with details…Colonel Hogan."


	9. Chapter 9

I'll Be Seeing You Chapter 9

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.**_

Hogan jerked his head up. "You DO know me," he hissed angrily. "What is this? Speak up or you'll be talking to a wrench. Who the hell are you?"

His companion was not flustered in the least. "Let me explain. Trust me, I would not break with protocol except under the most extraordinary of circumstances."

"They'd better be." Each word was an icicle.

Hogan watched the man reach over to a nearby bookshelf and pick up a framed photo. As he turned his head, Hogan began making an almost improbable connection. That beaked nose, the dome shape of the forehead…just take away the hair and glasses…no, it couldn't be. Could it?

"You have lost none of your temper," Scherzo said, a smile hinting at his features. "My uncle has remarked on it many times."

The picture was of a family celebration. A wedding, by the looks of things. Hogan recognized his contact immediately, seated near the end of a long table, his glass raised in celebration. The groom was hardly young and the bride was certainly not blushing, but there was a festive look to things.

"My name is Werner, colonel. Werner Klink. Wilhelm is my uncle."

"You're joking!" Hogan was downright stunned.

"Hardly. Now I shall hurry to fill you in, we must be on the move soon." Werner poured two glasses of schnapps and the two drank a toast.

"My father is Wilhelm's brother. I grew up on the estate, the ones the Soviets today control." A look of contempt passed across the man's now familiar eyes.

"Neither one of them had a talent for the violin lessons their father made them take. But as I got older, they saw who had inherited the musical talent in the family. I was sent to Berlin, to live with my maternal grandmother here in this flat, so I could study. First at the Conservatory, then at the Hochschule. Although I share my uncle's love for the violin, my primary instrument is the viola. And Klaus there," Werner nodded at the would-be plumber, who was having a smoke and a sandwich, "was one of my earliest teachers here."

"How did you get through the war? I mean, you were the right age to be drafted." Hogan's amazement continued to grow.

"My uncle's influence helped a great deal, so did our family name. And a classmate of mine, he had a father who was rather highly placed in the navy. I was conscripted, yes, but into a special unit given over to…the arts. Even in the darkest days of the war, there were still soirees and concerts and those that sought escape in the beauty of music. I survived. And now I teach at the Hochschule and perform on occasion, especially for the programs broadcast to the east. I could play with a major ensemble, but I prefer to keep a lower profile. As for helping your cause, I think you already know why. Though my uncle does not know at all, it is safer that way."

"OK, I can believe that, but how in the world do you know who I am? What did your uncle tell you?"

"Ah." A look of fleeting sadness passed over the young man's features. "Uncle Wilhelm always warned the family to run as far west as we could as the war progressed. He insisted that we should find the Americans. There was something about the Russians he did not trust." Werner shrugged.

"I can agree with that." Hogan remembered Marya the double crossing double agent. "Where are they now?"

"South of here, outside Stuttgart. My father is an automotive engineer and found work in the region. Near to where Wilhelm and Gertrude are living. It's a nice area. But back to your question. At his wedding, I overheard Wilhelm and Albert Burkholter drinking toasts. One of them was to 'Hogan.' I was curious who this Hogan was, so I asked. They laughed for a good five minutes, then my uncle showed me a picture taken at the stalag during some kind of performance." He paused. "You have not changed much."

"I'm glad they remember me so fondly," Hogan responded drily.

Werner's face softened. "Were it not for the words of the one known as Papa Bear, both of them would have been tried much more severely than they were. As it was, each served two years in a decent prison. And when they were released, the wedding happened quickly. Let us say that both of them only wanted our country to be the one they remembered. Their hearts were elsewhere, even as they strove to be good officers."

"I always wondered how much they knew, especially with Schultz butting into our operations all the time. " Hogan smiled. "There were times when I was certain they were deliberately looking the other way. Why else would that pain in the neck Hochstetter always be all over the camp?"

"The shouting flea, my uncle calls him." Werner laughed and stood up, glancing at his watch. "It is time we made our way to the next station. Klaus will see you out of the building, via the cellar. Luckily, Frau Ubereifriger cannot see out to the alley. I will meet you in perhaps a half hour at the café Klaus will direct you to." He extended his hand. "Good luck, Rondo. I shall see you soon."

As the door opened, Klink's whining tone could be heard in the next street. "Thank goodness you're finally done. It TOOK you forever. What were you doing, draining the river?"

"These young pups show no respect to anyone," Muller huffed in mock umbrage as the pair made their way downstairs. "Come and let us have a small drink at my office after all that abuse."

Once they were in the cellar, Muller pressed on a wooden panel and a door slid open, revealing a small storeroom. Hogan was swiftly divested of his disguise, coat and identity papers. These were replaced by a worn black leather jacket, an equally battered trilby hat, some US Army issued sunglasses and a new identity card. His new name was Theo Schrader.

"What am I supposed to be?" Hogan asked, curious at how he must look.

"A musician. You and Werner will be visiting an esteemed music supply shop in the eastern sector." Muller dug around and produced a flat, circular cloth case which he handed over.

Hogan whistled. "These are brand new Avedis Zildajians," he said, sliding his hands over the bright cymbals.

"Herr Klink said you were somewhat of a drummer at the stalag. So you shall carry what you are most comfortable with. The eastern sector has such little in the way of supplies. We make deliveries when we can." Muller's tone was bitter. "Once, I played with the Berlin Philharmonic," he said flatly. "But then the war came and they drafted old men like me for the Eastern front to fight those animals. So now I do my part to keep the study of music alive here, and to help those who would see things change for the better." He looked Hogan square in the eye, his shoulders back and his chin up, for a moment the proud young man he obviously once was. "May God be with you, sir."

Muller guided Hogan up a back set of steps and through a trapdoor into an alley. From there, it was a ten minute walk to the café where he would meet Scherzo. Hogan checked his watch. It was not yet 3 in the afternoon and here he was, on his third identity and the mission wasn't even going yet. How many more times would he be transformed before it was over?

The playing field really had changed, he thought. Then he turned his collar up against the afternoon breeze and started walking.


	10. Chapter 10

I'll Be Seeing You, Chapter 10

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.**_

_**The war destroyed much of Berlin's U-Bahn underground network, forcing much restoration work. But a network of tunnels already existed beneath the city: emergency, equipment, etc. Likewise, although our heroes will visit the area around the State Opera House (on Unter der Linden), it was also under restoration, with the opera company performing at the nearby Admiralspalast. The music store, cafes and businessess I mention are imaginary, though modeled on similar establishments I saw during trips to the city. The checkpoint system I describe is fictional, but based in fact. As of 1951, the Brandenburg Gate was still open (as in no wall) but the clear boundary between the sectors.**_

Hogan saw his contact at the coffee bar. Klink's nephew was standing at an outdoor platform table, perusing a newspaper. His eyes were discretely elsewhere, however. When he saw Hogan, he waved and made his way over.

"Hallo, Theo," he said pleasantly. "Are you ready to go?"

"Ja," Hogan/Theo responded.

The two caught an S-Bahn on the corner, towards the Brandenburg Gate and a checkpoint nearby. The car was crowded and noisy, making conversation nearly impossible, so Hogan let his gaze wander.

It was obvious the citizens of the once proud city were making do. He noted a pretty young woman, one he might have flirted with a few years back, standing near the exit platform. Her hair was styled in the latest coif, but her face was unadorned. The dress she wore was current in its style, yet seemed to have been crafted from a chintz curtain. And on her feet were work-worn stout leather boots, her legs bare. But she had a determined expression on her face and Hogan knew Berlin would survive.

The car stopped and more passengers embarked. Among them were a father and daughter. The man's coat was patched and he wore two old sweaters. His daughter had a man's jacket draped over her clothes, but underneath Hogan glimpsed ballet wear, including an ancient, tattered tutu. The girl held her father's hand tightly. In the other hand, she had a ragged doll that had obviously seen many previous owners, given its dress. Hogan remembered how Schultz had proudly told of the family toy factory, now in the capable hands of his sons and being rebuilt. Would his toys ever reach these children?

Out the window, ruined buildings still outnumbered unscathed ones. Piles of debris and rubble, bombed out shells of former lives, dotted the landscape like so many missing teeth. A ragtag group of youths played an enthusiastic game of football in a weed and rubbish filled vacant lot, their faces alight with a will to survive that coursed through the population.

They disembarked near the historic old gate and made their way to a checkpoint nearby. Hogan had been briefed that the west to east transit was relatively easy compared to its counterpart. His contact said to leave everything to him and Hogan was beginning to realize that he was just one part of a complex puzzle that was being pieced together.

"Remember, your English is horrible," Scherzo reminded him as they walked towards a checkpoint. "This is our best option. On public transit, there are more chances for random checks of papers and interrogation. And I have a connection here, so we should be all right."

"I'm amazed at your system," Hogan responded in guardedly low English. "And your compatriot, Klaus? I hope your operation continues, for his sake."

"Klaus will be pleased," Scherzo replied. "But as you suspect, I am certain, Muller is not his surname. It is a generic codename we use for such operations, there are a half dozen to choose from."

"If anything is needed, please contact through…subofficial channels," Hogan said. "We have music lovers in the west, too, you know."

"I know." Scherzo nodded ahead. "Now leave the rest to me."

They joined a line of citizens crossing through a military checkpoint. When they reached the U.S. representative, Scherzo smiled and said, "Hello, Sergeant Mallory!"

The American smiled in response. "Hey, maestro! You off to the store again? Who's your friend?"

"Theo doesn't speak English well," Scherzo apologized, presenting Hogan's forged identity documents.

"What does he play?" Mallory stamped both men's papers proficiently.

Scherzo leaned into Hogan's ear and whispered. Hogan immediately mimed a spirited drum solo.

"Skins, great. " Mallory ushered them through to no man's land. "Let's get together and jam sometime, eh?"

"Yes, let's." Scherzo guided Hogan towards the Soviet checkpoint.

The bored young officer had his mind elsewhere as he glanced at the two men's papers. He did not question either of them, instead stamped their papers with permission to be in the eastern sector until midnight.

Hogan knew to let his contact guide the way to the next station of their mission. But he sadly noted that the eastern sector was, as suspected, not living up to the promise of post war restoration. The population looked to be in despair, their faces showing knowledge of prewar Berlin, a city they had obviously loved. But now, it was a neo-communist satellite, the new rules coming down without anyone asking the citizens if they were to their liking. Soviet military personnel were everywhere, a foreboding, unfriendly presence. It was a far cry from their western counterparts just a few hundred yards west.

They maneuvered their way down backstreets until they reached a ramshackle but still active shop. A faded golden painted harp adorned the window, along with fancy calligraphy that proclaimed, simply, "Musik".

Another bell announced a new customer. Hogan followed Scherzo towards the counter, where an older man and two youths were chatting. The shop smelled of must, resin, and a faint whiff of lemon oil.

"Joachim!" the proprietor responded. "How are you? And who have you brought today to visit our humble establishment?

Hogan willed his face to remain neutral during the introductions. He surmised that the mission was for them to deliver new instruments to eastern sector and he was correct. The shop manager swiftly wrote up tickets, chatting amicably all the while. Then, with a slight nod of his head, he indicated all the customers should move off to the sheet music stacks.

It was just a momentary lapse, but in that time, the two other men took both Hogan and Scherzo's outer trappings and identity papers. A few moments later, they left the shop. And after that, the owner drew the shades and put up a closed sign, it being the time for early Saturday closing. He then ushered the pair into the back and down some stairs into the cellar.

"Herr Markus," Klink's nephew said as he accepted an embrace from a man he obviously knew well. But true to the mission, no real last name was mentioned.

"Werner, my star pupil. It is so good to see you. Why do you not come here more often? You know, a new orchestra is being formed in this sector. We could use a good viola player." The old man smiled knowingly, obviously a victim of the sector division.

"Someday, Herr Markus. Someday, I will play for ALL of a unified Berlin, perhaps even at the gate. But for now, we have work to do." Klink's nephew had obviously inherited his uncle's passion…and determination.

"Very well." Markus knocked at an old wooden door and it slid open. A tall blonde young man stood there.

"Scherzo," he said, shaking Klink's nephew's hand. "And this is Rondo?"

"I am," Hogan responded, in English, just as the new contact did.

"I am Mezzo," he replied professionally. "We have a trek down the sewers and an appointment with the tailor, so if you would please follow me?"

A precarious, slimy and somewhat parasite infested journey brought the party up another trapdoor into yet another cellar. Even before introductions were made, an elfin older woman darted forward to take measurements; she disappeared into a back room moments later.

"Welcome, gentleman. I am Herr Johann. Welcome to our establishment." An authoritative gentleman greeted the guests, then ushered them into another room. Hogan smelled food cooking and his stomach growled in response. He hadn't really eaten in hours.

"Zdrasvootye, Rondo und Scherzo. Mnya zavoot Ivan Sevchenko," the blonde man now stated, in what Hogan knew to be perfectly accented Russian.

"It's OK, Johann. He checks out." Scherzo made sure his point was taken.

"Excellent." The operative now switched to English. "I am sorry, but we must be certain all is correct. I shall be your escort this evening to the gala. You, obviously, cannot speak Russian so I will be your translator."

"Russian?" Hogan said, alarmed. "What are you getting at?

"The only way to Haller is through official channels," Scherzo began. "The eastern sector is full of Soviet personnel now so you can blend in well. Your voice has been compromised by a secondary infection from a tonsillectomy. Mezzo here will be your aide de camp and spokesperson."

"Tonsillitis? I had those out years ago!" Hogan interrupted.

"The Russians don't know that. And for adults, the operation is much more severe. You will be fine as a post-op patient that wishes to attend the gala," Mezzo said reassuringly. "And I can get us through any language barriers."

"How?" Hogan now asked, curious about the stalwart young man.

"My ancestors emigrated from the Ukraine to Germany more than two hundred years ago," Mezzo began. "We were German for centuries, until the Nazis came to power. My father, fortunately, saw the proverbial writing on the wall after the first war. We were not ethnically pure, despite his service to the fatherland. He moved the family to Switzerland, where we had relatives, because he had doubts about Hitler. I stayed behind and joined the resistance. As a language student, I learned what was necessary. And my looks pass me off as a pure Aryan or a Russian. So I am here to assist. I speak English, Russian and German equally well, you are in safe hands. My German name is Johann Schmidt. I take great pleasure in re-assuming my Ukrainian one, even for one night."

"Here is some food, to fortify you while you wait for your final fitting. "A middle aged matron brought forth sausage, potatoes, sauerkraut and rich pumpernickel bread for the visitors to partake of. "Please, eat. You have a long night ahead."

After they had eaten, Klink's nephew joined his friend Johann in an impromptu rendering of Bach's Concerto for Two Violins. Hogan enjoyed the moment, but it nagged at him.

He wanted to see success here as well. And that kind of life meant sacrifice.

Was he ready for that…again?


	11. Chapter 11

I'll Be Seeing You, Chapter 11

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.**_

Hogan finished shaving and rinsed his face in the tiny bathroom sink. He toweled off and gave a final once over to his hair. Then he put on a collarless white uniform shirt, the same kind he'd worn as a masquerading Nazi and Gestapo officer many times.

"Here, let me get those," the woman known as Anna said cheerily. She proficiently adjusted the suspenders and made certain Hogan's olive gabardine breeches fit properly. "Now the boots," she ordered.

The heavy black footgear was decidedly uncomfortable. Coupled with the curious leg wraps Soviet military personnel wore instead of socks, which he'd learned dated back to the Napoleonic wars, it was going to be an interesting night's walking.

Three quarters outfitted, Hogan followed the woman down the hall into a workroom. Scherzo and Mezzo were in the final phase of getting their dress tunics arranged. The transformation was speedy and paid careful attention to detail.

"Arms, please." The wizened little seamstress Hogan had first met over her tape measure held out his jacket top. Hogan slid into the garment and watched as her nimble fingers buttoned it closed. A leather belt found its way around his waist. Then the woman stepped back and gazed at her creation for a moment and nodded in satisfaction. A wave of her hand brought Anna to her side, bearing a cigar box full of various hardware. The two women set about giving Hogan his final touches: epaulets, medals and insignias.

"We are sorry that you could not be a colonel," Mezzo apologized. "But in the Red Army, anyone wishing to be promoted above a major has to attend one of the military training academies. We cannot risk your running into a potential classmate. The same goes for the branch of military we represent this evening. The air force is more specialized, with much higher a profile than we want right now."

"So who am I?" Hogan glanced down at his chest, which was being festooned with colorful badges. He sneaked a finger into the high neck collar of his coat, but Madame Sabine swatted at him, a smile in her eyes.

"Your rank is major," Scherzo replied. He was dressed as a corporal. "Your name is Mikhail Sergeovich Popov, and your home town is Kuntsevo, near Moscow."

"And what precisely have I seen in the way of action?" Hogan was attempting to get a closer look at the decorations multiplying across his jacket.

"Most of what you wear is standard issue--national medals, Soviet propaganda badges. Your actual theatre items show that you cut your teeth, so to speak, at Khalkhin Gol. Then service in the Finnish campaign and, finally, the capture of Berlin."

"I got around then," Hogan said thoughtfully. "Mongolia, the Arctic Circle, and now Germany. "

"The best officers usually did. Most of your counterparts saw a few different battlefields. The Soviets placed their most talented tacticians where they were needed." Scherzo handed Hogan a square brimmed officer's hat, bright with a red stripe and a huge star. "Major." He saluted Hogan smartly.

"One last touch," Mezzo added. He loaded clips into the two pistols brought from West Berlin that morning, then handed them to Hogan and Scherzo. Both secured the firearms safely in the hidden pockets sewn into their tunics. The men looked more than capable of passing as Red Army officer.

"You do good work," Hogan told the owner of the tailor shop he now knew was at the front of the building. "We could have used you at Stalag 13."

"And perhaps you did! Someone had to get the fabric for officer's garments out of the Berlin mills to the underground cells. It's possible one of my extended staff assisted with that. You know how fussy those officers were about the quality of the uniform. There was no room for error on your part."

"Thanks," Hogan replied, now beginning to realize just how wide the underground web had been woven.

"And for you, your calling card." Anna handed Mezzo an old carrying case that held a pair of antique opera glasses. The leather was burnished crocodile, a type from an elegant past era before war had changed the landscape and the people of Germany forever.

"Haller knows to look for this," Hogan's new aide explained. "Now we must go. Time to make our way to the last intermediary stop." He smiled. "And then, as you Americans say, it will be show time."

The trio made their way out a back exit that led directly into a converted garage. A car was waiting, properly made up as an official military transport. Scherzo started the engine and proficiently backed the vehicle out into the alley and headed towards a street nearby. From there, they smoothly joined light traffic and began the journey towards their next destination.

In the car, the two operatives briefed Hogan once more on the plan of action for that night. The transfer would be lightning fast, with no room for error. If the escape could not be completed, Haller would have to risk a rescue out of Russia, by a different cell.

"I was told this particular plan got put together quickly," Hogan remarked. "What was the alternative?"

"We had a tentative scenario for defection from a cultural event, and so far it is being followed. Apart from you not being able to speak Russian, that is. The original plan involved getting Haller out of the lab complex itself. There are operatives in place with that group, should any others want to be moved." Scherzo glanced at Hogan in the rear view mirror. "Haller asked for you specifically, then we got word he was being moved, so we had to think quickly."

"Me? Why me?" Hogan doubted the scientist knew who he was, let alone his name.

"Not you as your regular persona, but as Goldilocks," Mezzo replied. "Twice he worked with your group, but each time there was failure. He is determined to go this time and is convinced you are the one to bring him safely over."

"I didn't know I had such a stellar reputation." Hogan shrugged. "It was just my second job, you know."

The three would be soldiers shared a hearty laugh. Hogan glanced out the window at Unter der Linden, whose linden trees had been virtually chopped away for use as firewood in the last days of the war. The famous avenue looked sadly down at heel, devoid of color or life despite the fact it was May. Those out walking were striding purposefully, not enjoying a spring twilight.

"Things are not improving here as they are in the west," he stated. "I have a feeling they'll get worse before they get better."

"With the Soviets, it's always like that," Mezzo said bitterly. "I hate them as much as I hated the Nazis. Between ethnic purification in Germany and the Stalinist holodomor in my family's homeland, it's a wonder any Ukrainians are left today. So I am pleased to be part of this mission."

"Berlin is still a city of refugees," Scherzo added as he drew the car up to a small wine bar named, appropriately, The Opera. "And many of them are from the countries now 'annexed' by the Soviets. There is no love lost between them, believe me. Your contact here, he is Hungarian. Most anxious to assist, I might add."

The corporal got out and opened the back door for the two officers. "I will be seeing you at the intermezzo," he said quietly as he saluted.

Mezzo moved forward and pushed the door open to a surprisingly cheerful, crowded establishment. There were a few uniformed Soviets in the crowd as well as locals. It was clear most were making the trek up to the Admiralspalast for the gala, given their somewhat faded formal attire.

"Good evening, sirs," a dark haired man said in greeting as the pair approached the bar. "What may I get you?"

Inside the menu were two tickets to the gala. Mezzo pocketed them discretely, then ordered two small schnapps. "Nah zdahrovya," he said to Hogan.

After Hogan downed the liquor, he checked his borrowed Soviet made watch. It was only 7 in the evening. The mission was supposed to be completed by midnight U.K. time so that meant the real fun was just about to start.

What have I gotten myself into, he wondered.


	12. Chapter 12

I'll Be Seeing You, Chapter 12

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.**_

_**For Sasha.**_

"Taxi!" Mezzo raised his hand at the cab rank. He had explained to Hogan earlier that for the scene to work best, they needed to arrive by a taxi.

As they got into the vehicle, Hogan glanced across the road at the Opera House. It was covered with scaffolding, indicating the massive but slow restoration in process. The stately old building still had a somewhat regal air about it despite the somber surroundings. Hogan felt a bit of consternation as he regarded what had once been the cultural heart of a thriving city. Whose bombs had caused the devastation? And whose effort would restore the building to its former glory?

The taxi cruised the short distance to the Admiralspalast. Hogan noted the streets were much more devoid of traffic than in the west. Fewer citizens about, too, as though the city was still drawing its blackout curtains against the spring night.

"Here you are, gents," the driver announced. He pulled to a stop outside the high columned entrance to the state opera company's temporary home. Mezzo paid the man in roubles, which led to a spirited debate over exchangeability. Eventually, the roubles won.

The pair made their way past the entryway and into the courtyard, which bustled with patrons. Although the night was officially billed as a visiting concert by the Kirov state opera and orchestra companies, the underlying tone was one of salf-lauding by those in charge. The lobby was full of activity, with a full house expected.

Hogan noticed the place was swarming with Soviet officers. He gave and received so many salutes his arm started to get tired, but Mezzo proficiently explained his superior's malady to much sympathy. A few ladies, and men, offered curious homemade remedies which Hogan noted to himself. There were boys at home that might get tonsillitis someday--hopefully not, but one never knew.

They perused the official program. It was an all Russian, or more correctly, all Soviet night. No Wagner, no Bach. Hogan frowned inwardly, knowing how much the small sector of the populace he'd already met disliked the choices of culture imposed by the Soviets. He scanned the playlist. Selections from _Eugene Onegin _and _The Queen of Spades_ would be sung by the visiting opera company. Musical offerings included those from Prokofiev's _Cinderella _and_ On the Dnieper, _Tchaikovsky's _Swan Lake_ and _Romeo and Juliet_, Rimsky Korsakov's _Scherezade _and Mussorgsky's _Pictures at an Exhibition. _Hogan noted with relief that the second half included a movement from Shostakovich's recently approved hymn to Stalin, _Songs of the Forests._ Hogan had heard of the piece, which he was secretly glad to be missing.

A man resembling Haller moved past them, accompanied by two crew cut men in severe dark suits. Given the contrast of their attire with the colorful swirl of uniforms and vintage formal clothes, Hogan surmised they were agents of the MGB, the Ministry for State Security of the U.S.S.R. Hogan tried not to look surprised but the photos had not indicated the man's ample girth. He had a good twenty pounds on Schultz, Hogan figured, hoping his contacts had taken that fact into consideration.

The trio stopped at a nearby ashtray, at Haller's insistence. Hogan watched the man light a cigarette and inhale deeply, his eyes taking in the scene. If he recognized them, his expression said nothing. Hogan was wondering what would happen next when he noticed two young women join the trio. They had on dull-colored homemade attempts at finery, but still wore them as well as any showroom model. Their hair was lacquered and teased into a halfhearted imitation of Elizabeth Taylor. Both brandished cigarette holders and were obviously in need of a light. The men quickly obliged and were drawn into easy conversation by the two _agents provocateur_.

Mezzo dropped his program and bent down as Haller helped him find the document. Words were whispered between the two, then the scientist rejoined his minders and their new acquaintances. Laughter bubbled from the group.

Hogan and his aide made their way upstairs to the stalls circle and took their places at one end of the horseshoe. A few moments later, Haller's party sat down almost directly opposite them across the orchestra section. Even from that distance, Hogan could hear the feigned, "Yoo-hoo!" as the female operatives found themselves coincidentally a few rows away from Haller and his companions. He raised an eyebrow and glanced at Mezzo. The young man was engrossed in his program but a hint of a smile played at his lips. It was all going to plan, obviously. Hogan took a deep breath as the lights dimmed and settled back to enjoy the performance.

Intermission was heralded with the raising of the house lights. Hogan took his cue and coughed loudly. "I am not well," he whispered theatrically in well-drilled Russian.

Mezzo gazed at his superior closely and tut-tutted loudly. "Major, you are ill. Why you chose to defy the physicians and attend this night is beyond me." He helped Hogan to shaky feet. "You must be seen to. It is best we leave and go straight to the hospital. Come, we will get a taxi."

They slowly went downstairs, Hogan playing his role so well that a few patrons clucked sympathetically and gave them extra room to proceed. By the time they got to the lobby, Hogan noted that Haller's group was already at a standing table. An agent was pouring pink champagne and another was saying what Hogan knew to mean "Happy Birthday!" to one of the ladies. Kisses were being exchanged. Haller excused himself but no one seemed to hear him.

The scientist approached the pair near the men's room. "Is something wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"The major has been taken ill," Mezzo replied, switching to German. "I must get him to a taxi. He is stubborn, however."

"Allow me to assist." Haller took Hogan's other arm. Hogan moaned softly.

"We cannot let others see him this way," Mezzo continued. "Let us be quick."

The trio walked swiftly out the door, across the courtyard and out to the street and the taxi rank there. They were joined by two other couples. One was younger, intent on skipping the second act to go somewhere where they could be alone.

"No, Hansi!" the woman whispered as her companion let his palm stray towards her shapely backside.

"Hush, dumpling," the man replied. It was only when his eyes glanced toward them that Hogan realized they were also part of the operation.

Hogan's attention was then turned towards the middle-aged pair on his left. The woman was clearly disgusted with her spouse and made no secret of the fact.

"Oaf! If you wanted to sleep, you could do so at home for free! How can I face my friends tomorrow when you were snoring in there like a walrus with asthma?" A well placed thump of an ancient handbag emphasized her point.

"But my dear, let me explain." The man tried to get his wife's attention but failed. He turned to the trio. "Women," he said with a shrug. Another set of operatives.

"Taxi!" three voices cried. Three cabs pulled forward and took their passengers in one seamless movement. They then moved to the intersection and sped off in different directions. The transfer had taken so place so fast and so smoothly that even Hogan was impressed.

"Where to, gents?" Scherzo asked pleasantly.


	13. Chapter 13

I'll Be Seeing you, Chapter 13

by Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.**_

_**The airfield/scrap-yard I describe here is made up. I am sure there probably were such establishments dotted around both sides of Berlin, but have no idea where they were. During the Berlin airlift, Soviet fighters would routinely buzz Allied cargo and passenger planes, causing more than one crash. Harassment of western flights still took place for many years after as Stalin sought to get the Allies out of the western sector. But what I'm writing about is fiction**__** (to my knowledge!).**_

As the cab sped into the East Berlin night, Hogan and Mezzo swiftly shed their telltale hats and tunics. Hogan then assumed his role of contact with their passenger.

"Dr. Haller?" he said, offering the man his hand. "We're here to help you. I am Rondo, though you also knew me through Goldilocks."

"Ach!" Haller visibly relaxed. "I am so pleased to meet you at last. And I must thank you for your assistance with my other colleagues. I hope to be joining them in America soon."

"If any of your current workmates want to follow, we can help them as well," Mezzo added. By now he had put on a working man's hat and some wire rimmed spectacles, looking nothing like his officer persona.

"Do you have anything for me?" Hogan continued.

The portly scientist nodded. "Here," he said breathlessly, handing over a small leather notebook that easily concealed in the palm of Hogan's hand. "We have been making notes for the past months. I hope this can assist the projects."

"This is safe now, professor." Hogan glanced out the window. "Where are we?" he asked as the taxi pulled into a brick factory complex. Steam was pouring from some chimneys and there was activity on the far side of the courtyard.

"Welcome to one of the largest laundry plants in this sector," Scherzo replied. He maneuvered the cab into a small, dimly lit warehouse where several people waited on a loading dock next to some old delivery vans.

One of the men jumped down and handed the half-uniformed ex-servicemen black clothing and flashlights. They changed swiftly while listening to the group's leader outline the final phase of their journey through the eastern sector.

"We cannot risk driving you very far, the Soviets are patrolling this area because of its proximity to the boundary," he said, pointing out a hand-drawn map. "You will be dropped off here and guided through a short underground tunnel network that will bring you up in the west. An aviation scrap-yard is nearby, part of a disused Allied training airstrip. That is your destination."

"What's there?" Hogan asked, studying the red X marked on the paper.

"Your transportation back to England," Scherzo replied. "I will be your escort from here, as Mezzo must be brought back across by another cell. As part of our next operation, you might say."

"You're busy," Hogan remarked, checking the clip on his pistol. He let one younger members of the group blacken his face, remembering night ops out of Stalag 13. At least it was greasepaint and not soot.

"We never sleep," Mezzo said, extending his hand. "All part of the service provided. Good luck, sir. I hope you will be breakfasting on bacon and eggs in a few hours." Then he got into one of the delivery vans and was whisked off into the night.

Haller had exchanged his shabby Soviet issue suit for voluminous khaki coveralls and a workman's cloth cap. He looked a bit nervous but otherwise seemed ready for the voyage. He clambered into the back of the second van and sat down rather uncomfortably on some bags of laundry. Hogan hopped up, followed by Scherzo . The doors closed and the van began its transit.

"So we're headed south, towards Templehoff?' Hogan asked, checking his watch. It was just after 10.

"Yes. After the war, Berlin was full of everything to do with airplanes, so these junkyards were set up. What can be salvaged is sent back to the bases for re-use. The rest is melted down for scrap. And of course, there are a few planes here and there. Old ones, hardly able to fly from the looks of them." Scherzo smiled. "If you understand?"

"Affirmative," Hogan replied, wondering what kind of transport was waiting.

After about fifteen minutes, the vehicle stopped. Scherzo opened the back door and helped his companions down into an alley. As the van sped away, they walked towards a rotted wooden door attached to a bombed out shell of a building. Scherzo opened it and pulled out his flashlight, shining the beam down a set of narrow steps. He pointed to Hogan. "If you would lead, I can assist our guest from the rear. There is nowhere to go but straight."

Hogan turned on his own light and crept slowly down the entrance. It was dusty, cobwebby and musty but by the sets of footprints in the dirt, the path was obviously a well-traveled one for the local underground. Rats scurried away from the men, squeaking into the darkness. They walked along in silence. Hogan surmised they were in a maintenance tunnel for the city's devastated U-Bahn system. Old tools and newspapers littered the ground. After about ten minutes, they came to a t-junction. The path they chose became smaller and mustier. Water dripped down the walls. Hogan swatted away at more cobwebs, hoping the spiders were busy elsewhere. The last thing he wanted was a bite. Another door finally appeared, which gave way to Hogan's shoulder. He stopped a moment, surveying what lay ahead.

"This is going to be tight," he said flatly, and he was not exaggerating.

A smaller set of perhaps ten steps led to a curved opening that went off around a corner. Hogan could hear running water and realized they were now in the city's sewer system. He glanced back at Scherzo and Haller, wondering how the professor's bulk could be squeezed through the proverbial eye of the needle.

"Go down through the doorway and wait for us," Scherzo instructed.

Hogan half crawled down the stairway and found himself standing knee deep in cold, murky water. The smell was decidedly unpleasant. He shone the light back at the doorway and watched Haller's form begin to squeeze through. The man huffed and puffed, then collapsed against the brick. "I cannot," he gasped.

"You can, professor. Please try again," came Scherzo's muffled, disembodied voice.

Hogan set down his light and grabbed the older man under his arms. "On three, push," he shouted. "One, two THREE!"

Haller's bulk popped through the entrance and Hogan stumbled as the man's full weight drove him back into the ditch. He splashed into the water, then gasped as Haller landed on him. Searing pain shot through his upper body and Hogan knew a couple of ribs were probably going to be hurting for awhile.

Scherzo jumped into the bilge and helped both men up. Haller apologized profusely for being such a bother, his face crimson with embarrassment.

"No problem, professor. Now let's get you out of here," Hogan replied as he helped the man onto another brick path. He winced at the pain that shot through him, wondering if his collarbone was fractured into the bargain.

"Hurry, we are not safe yet," Scherzo commanded as they clambered up more stairs. "Though we are now officially in the western sector, there are agents that patrol this area regularly." He stopped to check his pistol. "And they are not afraid to shoot."

"Neither am I," Hogan said.

They stumbled out into the cool night air, momentarily blinded by the lights from the nearby airport. Hogan guessed Templehoff was not all that far away. Before he could speculate further, two men approached, machine guns drawn. Their faces were painted much more professionally than his own and their boots were army issue.

"Rondo?" one asked in a clipped Boston accent. Hogan nodded and the group started briskly towards the scrap-yard ahead. He sensed the men were Army Rangers, the elite commando force of the military. This was a big operation, apparently.

"There's our destination." The second solider pointed towards an ageing C-47 that was starting to rev up its engines. The group sprinted towards the plane.

Two more rangers hoisted the scientist aboard. Hogan glimpsed what looked to be agent Nelson greet the defector and settle him into a seat. He then turned to the young man that had been his guide for what seemed to be months, yet not even a day had passed. They shared a backslapping hug, which made Hogan grimace.

"Thank you," Hogan said simply to the man he also knew as Werner Klink. "Will you be safe?"

"My contact is waiting in the control tower. In the morning, I will be playing with our church string quartet at high mass. This is, as you say, business as usual for us. Now you must go, you are still not out of danger."

"You'll give your uncle my regards?" Hogan said with a smile as he turned to go up the gangway.

"As we plan--." Scherzo's voice was cut off. A bullet whizzed past his head, intended for the plane's fuselage. Thankfully, it missed its mark.

"Visitors!" Hogan yelled, his eyes searching the end of the field. A second later, a man's form could be seen rising from behind a pile of old tires. Before Hogan or the rangers could even draw their weapons, the shooter crumpled back into the darkness.

Hogan stared at his contact. "That was nice shooting," he finally managed to say. One bullet.

"I never said I was not in the army proper," Klink's nephew admonished as he put away his pistol. He was grinning. "I was considered a fine marksman from an early age. I just never had to use that particular talent."

"Come ON, sir!" One of the rangers yanked at Hogan's shoulder, which sent more pinpricks of pain into his belly.

Hogan jumped up, watching Scherzo race behind the plane towards safety. He was relieved when two men that he obviously knew joined him. They continued to the makeshift control tower.

"About time you got here, old man," a familiar voice said. "I can't fly this bloody heap alone, never trained properly on one. I need a pilot."

James Crafton handed Hogan a parachute. "Shall we be off?" he asked.


	14. Chapter 14

I'll Be Seeing You, Chapter 14

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.**_

_**The nickname for the C-47 Skytrain was "gooney bird" or "gooney". The night fighter version of the Gloster Meteor jet was in its first stages of use by the RAF in Germany from 1951. The U.S. F-86 Sabre was the only jet that could effectively match a MiG and was already being used in the Korea conflict. Joint maneuvers such as I describe might well have happened. Unofficially, naturally!**_

Hogan sat in the first chair and adjusted his headphones. Buckling in brought a fresh wave of pain and he frowned a second. His ribs must be fractured, he thought. He watched as James Crafton proficiently readied the craft for takeoff. Behind them, two rangers took their posts as the plane began a long turn towards takeoff.

"How's your day been?" Crafton shouted over the din of the propellers.

Hogan shouted back just as loudly. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you!" he yelled, now worried about the stabbing pains in his abdomen. "And thanks for getting a gooney!" He'd flown some during the airlift, along with a few other models.

Hogan started taxiing up the rutted old airstrip. He took a deep, painful breath and opened the throttle. It took some clever maneuvering but the old bird just managed to make altitude. They banked steeply and turned the plane towards the main West Berlin air corridor, which was the only safe way out over East Germany.

He knew better than to relax. His eyes scanned the vicinity for Soviet interlopers, always a possible threat. A bigger cargo model was no match for the sleek little MiGs. There was still some time before they were out of East German airspace and the mission could not go wrong now.

Movement to his left caught his attention. The bottom of his already churning stomach started to drop. "We got company!" he shouted to his co-pilot.

""It's OK, they're friendly! Night maneuvers!" Crafton yelled, pointing at the window.

To Hogan's amazement, a mixed group of American F-86 and British Gloster Meteors were soon flanking them. The jets escorted the plane safely into West Germany and then smoothly peeled off towards base. Once he was certain things looked fine, Hogan handed off the controls and got up. He was surprised to feel a bit woozy and had to fight to keep his balance. But he managed to make his way over to where Nelson was sitting with Professor Haller. He carefully handed over the scientist's notebook and his own pistol to the operative, then accepted a Coke and a cookie from one of the rangers in the hopes of restoring his energy. But the nourishment didn't help and Hogan began to feel worse. The only way to counteract the effect was to keep busy--at the controls. He staggered back and eased himself into pilot's the chair, giving a half-hearted thumbs up to Crafton.

The transport crossed the North Sea without incident and was picked up by four fighter escorts as it made the British coast. It would not be long now until they reached base and Hogan was anxious to be done with the matter. Much as he didn't like to admit any kind of weakness, he felt lousy. Worse than lousy.

Lakenheath tower cleared the flight for landing and Hogan steered the plane towards the runway. His pilot's reflexes took over like second nature, which was a good thing at the moment given his condition. The C-47 touched down and taxied to a stop without incident.

Hogan knew he had to get up but he was tired, so tired. Perhaps a little nap before he disembarked, just to clear the dizziness. He folded his arms on the instrument panel and dropped his head onto them because he could not think of anything else to do.

_**I wanted to finish this segment of the action. There is more to follow, trust me!**_


	15. Chapter 15

I'll Be Seeing You, Chapter 15

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.**_

"Mayday, mayday, mayday," Crafton barked into the radio. "This is Old Gooney 1, Old Gooney 1, Old Gooney 1, on-ground. We require immediate medical assistance. Possible internal injuries."

One of the rangers was kneeling at Hogan's side, taking his pulse. "He's probably in shock. Weak vitals from what I can tell. We'd better not move him until the medics get here."

"He was complaining about his ribs," Nelson said. "Could be something more serious."

The medical team clambered aboard and made a diagnosis. Hogan was vaguely aware of being lifted off the plane on a gurney, but beyond that, he was clueless. The lights kept sliding in and out of focus. One minute it was dark, the next it was light. And he hurt, he hurt so badly, but even that was fading into some kind of oblivion. The last thing he remembered before the welcome blackness enveloped him was Crafton speaking insistently in his ear.

"Hang on, Robert, I promised Peg--."

Then there was nothing.

Voices. Hushed, serious voices. They picked apart Hogan's slumber, bit by bit. He became aware of his surroundings yet was unable to comprehend where he was. It was night, the shades were drawn. There was an IV tube attached to his arm, he was in what looked to be a hospital bed, and a man and a woman in white were discussing something near the door. He watched through half-lidded eyes as the female left. The male picked up a chart and studied it.

Hogan tried to speak but his tongue was somehow glued to the roof of his mouth. "Unhhhhh," he croaked ungraciously.

"Ah, hello Colonel Hogan," the doctor replied pleasantly in an Oxbridge accent. "I see you're finally with us. Jolly good. It was a little bit touch and go for awhile, but I think you're past the worst of it."

"W-where am I?" Hogan finally managed to say.

"In the base hospital. ICU, I'm afraid, till we're sure you've stabilized." The doctor moved closer to Hogan and sat down in a chair. "I'm Captain Rupert Llewellyn, by the way. And I hope you weren't too fond of that spleen of yours, we had to take out part of it."

"Naah," Hogan joked, despite the fact he felt some pain. He still desperately wanted to sleep, though the thought of Peggy nagged at the fragments of his consciousness.

"You're not out of the woods, sir. You've two broken ribs. Not fractured, but cracked clean through. They're what punctured your spleen. It's a good thing you were on such a short flight. Anything longer might have been, well, much more serious. As it is, you'll be healing for awhile. But thanks to my recent visit to Korea, we saved the organ. Some spiffing new surgical procedures coming out of those MASH units, you know."

"Sss-nice," Hogan mumbled, drifting back to sleep.

When he finally woke up again, the sun was shining through the window. A nurse brought in some breakfast and helped him eat. For some reason, he was starving and even hospital food tasted good. Dr. Llewellyn breezed in a bit later. He checked Hogan's progress and examined his stitches and taping. The physician pronounced him fit enough to move out of ICU and into a private room that afternoon, where he'd officially be on the visiting list.

"What day is it?" Hogan asked the doctor. He had no recollection of anything since they left Berlin in the plane.

"Saturday afternoon," he replied.

"What date?" Hogan persisted. He was relieved to learn only a week had passed.

"Oh yes, this arrived for you yesterday. Lord Crafton dropped it off." Llewellyn handed Hogan a pale blue vellum envelope, which smelled faintly of lilacs.

"He's been here?" Hogan replied, knowing full well who the correspondence was from.

"Every day. He was quite concerned about your recovery. Of course, now you're on the mend, I expect you'll be getting quite a few visitors."

Hogan opened the letter after his doctor had left. He recognized Peggy's writing immediately.

"My love,

"I am using the new pen you gave me to write these words. It works very well indeed. Thank you again for remembering us in your travels. Robert adores his storybook as well. We're both quite keen to see a cowboy film now!

"James has kept me apprised of your condition and I am relieved to learn you are out of danger. Now that you are able to receive visitors, we will be up to see you soon. The boys are all fine and asking about you almost hourly. They are writing their own note to you. Mummy and Fiona and I have been busy putting up some early preserves and working in the garden. I will bring some flowers when I visit, I'm quite sure hospital wards need cheering up.

"The doctors say you will need a good period of convalescence, so I want you to know that your room is still as you left it here at Catkin Hall. We expect you to spend your time with us, no two ways about it. 

We shall all do our best to ensure you make speedy recovery. Mummy has ordered cook to gather all your favorites, though I must confess after all this time, I have no idea what those might be. Perhaps we could discuss this in more detail when I see you.

"All my love, darling,

"Peggy. xxx"

Hogan never realized it could hurt to smile, but he didn't mind in the least.

No sooner was Hogan settled into his new quarters, a fairly nice private room, than the parade of visitors began.

"Both sides of the Atlantic are buzzing with the news of your success," Major General Thomson enthused. He placed a gift box of cigars on the bureau. "I know you don't smoke cigarettes, but these might come in handy for a celebration once you're feeling better."

"I will, thanks very much," Hogan replied. "So where's Haller?"

"At a safe house en route to the southwest. Nelson and his team are debriefing him and getting his new identity set. He's full of information. Apparently, there are about a half-dozen others working with him that want to head over to our side. The professor insists you were the key to his defection because of your reputation during the war. You're going to be quite popular, if you choose to be. But we'll speak about that later."

"The cell? How are they?" Hogan thought of the brave group that had actually done most of the legwork through Berlin.

"All present and accounted for. Scherzo sent a message. He played Mozart last Sunday, as scheduled." Thomson paused, his face puzzled. "I suppose you'd know more about that, right?"

"I would. Let's say it really was a musical adventure and the code names were well-suited to our work." Hogan smiled in recollection. "I'll fill you in more when I'm debriefed. When will that be, by the way?" He knew the final phase of the mission was yet to take place, at least for him.

"Tomorrow. Expect a full house, but don't worry. You're hardly in any trouble. In fact, you're more the man of the mission."

As the American was leaving, Lord Randolph Sutcliffe bustled in, accompanied by James Crafton. He two men pulled their chairs close to Hogan's bed and jumped right into conversation.

"Excellent work, Hogan. Jolly good show on your part. The ministry's all atwitter, well, with what they're officially allowed to know that is," Crafton's superior said with a wink. "So what did you think of it all?"

"I felt kind of like a passenger on a trip, going from station to station," Hogan answered truthfully. "Though I know why you couldn't risk divulging more information. Your contacts are well-placed and extremely professional. Resourceful, too." He remembered the amazing little tailoring operation.

"Now you know what happened when you handed off someone to your underground contacts, eh?" Crafton responded. "It was a long way from Stalag 13 to the coast, lots of hands to pass through. All part of the puzzle, as you probably know by now, a puzzle that's still largely in place across Germany."

" Here's a bit to think about, Hogan," Sutcliffe added. "We need someone like you to keep the integrity of the operation intact. Will you consider working with us? Rather like a secondment, the way we borrowed you this time. Only more on a more permanent basis. Seeing as they want you here regardless."

"I'm getting a little old for this kind of action," Hogan said thoughtfully. "Remember, I was a pilot first. They tapped me because the idea of operatives working from within Germany was something they needed. Me, I could take it or leave it. "

"We're not asking you to run through the sewers," Crafton replied, his eyes just a little amused. "We need someone to run the entire scenario. Like Papa Bear did for your cells."

Hogan was silent. "That's a big order," he finally said.

"But not something to talk about now." Sutcliffe rose and shook Hogan's hand in farewell. "I do hope you'll sleep on it, though."

"I'll just pop out to fetch Peg," Crafton said after his superior left. "Shan't be a moment."

"She's here?"

"Been down with matron, discussing your convalescence and what you need to make a complete recovery. You do realize you're staying with us as soon as they release you? Mummy won't hear of you going to a sanitarium." Crafton smiled knowingly. "Neither will my sister."

"Are you sure you know what you're in for?" Hogan laughed weakly.

"Certainly, old man. Why else would we insist?"

Hogan lay back and awaited his next visitor.

James escorted his sister into Hogan's room. Peggy gave a huge bouquet of beautiful flowers over to the nurse to be put in a vase. Then the three chatted amicably about news for a few moments.

"I'd best check in with the office," Crafton apologized after a bit, excusing himself. "See you in, say a half-hour, sis?"

Peggy nodded. The door closed and they were alone. Not improperly alone, for Peggy's chair was an acceptable distance from Hogan's bed, but alone nonetheless. Hogan was unsure of what to do next. He'd left this woman with a kiss and a promise, then had gone off and nearly gotten himself killed playing spy. Now there was a chance this might become his regular line of work. What kind of life was that to offer a woman in need of a husband and a father to her son?

A hand delicately entwined itself in his. Peggy opened her mouth but nothing came out. Instead, tears started coursing down her face.

"What's wrong, Peg?" Hogan asked softly, wishing his injuries didn't preclude more contact with her.

"Nothing, Robert. I'm just glad you're all right. I couldn't cry in front of the boys, I had to be brave for them. We were all scared to death, especially when James got called later that morning to go off somewhere." Peggy's eyes told Hogan that she knew about her brother's other job, and likely his as well.

"I wanted to talk to you about the future," Hogan continued, reaching his unaffected arm towards her face and touching her cheek. "But now I'm not so sure you'd want that."

"Why not let me be the judge of my own future, for once?" Peggy leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss on his mouth, but one that hinted at other delights yet to come. "Right now, you need to get well. Time enough for talking as you do. I'd be happy if things just…continued."

"So would I," Hogan agreed. He motioned for Peggy to come closer and whispered in her ear.

"Robert!" Peggy's voice was primly shocked but she was smiling. "How can you even think of such a thing in your condition?"

"You can't keep a good man down," Hogan replied wittily, trying his best not to laugh lest his stitches pull again.

Peggy glanced over her shoulder. When she was certain no one was watching, she gave Hogan another kiss, a scorcher this time. "Will that do for now?" she managed to ask when they came up for air.

"It'll have to. Now I suppose I've ruined your reputation and I'll need to do the honorable thing." He held her hand, stroking the fingers suggestively. "Who do I speak to about courting you properly?"

"Me, for starters. Something Alsdair neglected to do when he talked with Daddy."

"We can discuss that later," Hogan told her, noticing fresh tears starting to form. "Deal?"

"Deal, Robert. Now I'd best go find James before we need to call in the base chaplain."

Peggy hurried off just as the nurse brought in the vase of blooms. "May I get you anything else before dinner, sir?" she asked.

"Yes. Some ice water," Hogan replied.


	16. Chapter 16

I'll Be Seeing You, Chapter 16

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1. Warning, MILD adult content approaching.**_

Hogan's de-briefing session played to a full house. His room was packed with representatives from the Ministry of Defense, R.A.F., U.S. Air Forces in Europe, U.S. Department of State and the C.I.A. Hogan answered their questions to the best of his ability and sensed the knowledge he was providing was vital to what was presently happening in Eastern Europe. Nothing overt was said about where his career might be headed. That was going to come later, but each departmental representative had privately entreated Hogan to consider working with them.

His recovery was speedy, aided in part by the fact that Peggy and at least one of her family members visited several times a week. After a month, Hogan's doctor declared he was fit for convalescence offsite and released him to the care of the Crafton family.

The boys were anxious to assist with his recovery and helped Hogan with his stretching and strengthening exercises each day by the pool. Lady Camille clucked around like an old mother hen and tried to fill his mouth with delectable offerings at least once an hour. The weather cooperated with long, sunny days and balmy twilights. Peggy spent time with Hogan as much as she could. They sat on the terrace at first, then started making limited walks around the grounds as his strength continued to improve.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Hogan kept his promise and approached James Crafton not long after he arrived.

"I'd like permission to see your sister socially," he told Peggy's brother evenly. "If that's all right?"

"All right?" Crafton's face split into a delighted grin. "More than all right, old man, Peggy's keen, I'm sure. I'll let Mummy know, she'll be pleased too."

"I promise to be a perfect gentleman," Hogan continued. "Your sister's reputation is safe with me."

Crafton's expression became thoughtful as he poured out some brandy for them both. "My sister loves you, Robert," he said carefully. "She's a grown up woman now, part of a package deal, you know. I'm hoping you've considered that."

What did the man know, Hogan wondered. "I have," he replied. "And I love her just as much. So that's why I'd like to see her properly. If things can work out for all of us, I want that to happen."

"I'll leave Peggy to speak with you, then," Crafton told him. "Good luck. My sister's a bit of a handful, even on a good day."

"So, I have the go-ahead to ask you out," Hogan said to Peggy that afternoon. "But this being England and all, I'm not sure of your social customs regarding keeping company."

"Well, how would you ask a young lady out back where you're from?" Peggy answered, tickling the back of Hogan's neck surreptitiously with a fuzzy wildflower. "It can't be that different, can it?"

"Let's see." Hogan put his hands behind his neck and leaned back on the lounge chair. "It's been awhile for me. I'd meet your parents when I came to pick you up, of course. We'd first go out in a big group, maybe ice skating or to a ball game. Then we'd double date with another couple to a dance, maybe to the malt shop. Once I was sure your folks liked me, I'd check if it was OK to take you out to dinner and a show. That kind of stuff."

"I can tell you right now my mother and brother like you as much as I do, so that's not going to be a problem." Peggy laughed and tucked her knees up under her chin, thinking. "We don't have much in the way of malt shops or ball games around here. You could ask me to the pictures in Ely or Cambridge, and we have dances and restaurants. Ice skating won't happen 'till the winter, I'll save that invitation for later, I hope?"

"Absolutely. But for now, how about something nearby--and public? That we could all enjoy together? " Hogan wanted to go slowly.

"You mean, introduce us to the local populace gradually, right?" Peggy blew him a kiss. "All right, I think I've just the thing. Let me ask the others."

vvvvvvvvvvvvv

Lady Margaret MacFarlane was first seen in public with Colonel Robert Hogan the following Saturday at the local village fete. The couple was accompanied by a large contingent of family members. Peggy made certain to introduce her escort all around. The boys took rosettes in various exhibits they'd entered and Hogan showed off his recovering athletic skills by winning Peggy a stuffed pink toy rabbit. It was a fine day out for everyone and Hogan felt he'd passed the first hurdle.

From there, they went with Fiona and James Crafton to a village celidh one weekend. Despite Hogan's still tender ribcage, he did his best to attempt some of the less-strenuous dances. He noticed several well-bred youngish men eyeing him closely and suspected that these might be the types Newkirk mentioned, the pack of hounds. During a waltz, he held Peggy properly but protectively against him and gave the competition a cool, neutral glance.

Speculation about the pair soon became the topic of local conversation. The fact Hogan had been nowhere on the scene during Peggy's marriage was a plus, with most neighbors feeling the likeable young widow now had a second chance at love. Fiona brought home tales from the women's society meeting that the colonel was viewed as handsome, intelligent and quite proper. From what Hogan heard down at the pub when he went with James, his lordship MacFarlane wasn't liked all that much. He was cautiously optimistic that their couple-hood might be accepted and this pleased him, though he knew he and Peggy still had much to discuss. She still had not mentioned Robert, though the boy spent hours with them both. Hogan knew she would tell, or not, when she wanted to and did not press further.

vvvvvvvvvv

"I suppose you know where this is headed, Peggy." Hogan said one sunny June afternoon. They sat regarding the pond where they'd spent many long hours the last time he was there. "I plan to discuss career options with my superiors very soon, but I need to know. Do you want to be a part of the future I'm planning? If not, just say so. But I need to know."

"Oh Robert," Peggy sighed. She threw a pebble into the water. "Of course I do. Do you even need to ask?"

"I do, Peg. If the subject of marriage came up, how would you react?"

Peggy leaned into his shoulder and was quiet for a moment. "Then there's something you should know. I don't know how important a family is to you, but when Robert was born, I suffered some complications. The doctors said the damage was--permanent. I won't be able to give you children."

Hogan held her close, ignoring the pain from his still healing abdominal area. "Peggy," he said, lifting her chin up so they were looking at each other, "that's all right, you've given me a fine one already. It's enough."

Her eyes grew wide and for a moment, Hogan was afraid he'd said the wrong thing. Then she collapsed against him and burst into tears. He let her cry until the turmoil passed. And all the while he wondered, have I ruined this?

"You knew?" she finally asked, her voice hoarse.

"Not officially, but I'd be willing to stake quite a bit that he's got something to do with my gene pool, Peg. " Hogan kissed her temple. "Why didn't you tell me, honey?"

Peggy swallowed hard and struggled to find her voice. "Because I didn't think you'd want me and a baby. I was a young girl in love for the first time in her life. It was the war. And there was duty. Robert, I saw how much flying meant to you and I couldn't ask you to give that up because of a few afternoons in the summer sun. It was your whole life."

"No, Peg, that's not true. I loved you, but I thought you wouldn't want me around. You were born into a world that had no room for a working class guy like me. I got into college on a scholarship and learned to fly by fixing engines at the airfield. It was sheer luck I was selected to train as an officer. At the end of the day, it would be back to the U.S. and my ordinary relatives. How could I expect you to give up this for that kind of life?" Hogan was kicking himself for not speaking up six years earlier.

"You could have asked," Peggy said reproachfully. "But I suppose I could have, too."

"Did you--find out before I left?" Hogan still found it hard to believe she'd borne his son.

"Of course. A woman knows things, often much earlier than she wants to. Mummy and James both tried to talk me out of marrying Alsdair, you know. But I wouldn't listen. Daddy had made me promise and I knew I had to obey his wishes." Peggy looked sad.

"They knew?" The color drained from Hogan's face.

"Mummy did right away. She enlisted the help of my brother to try to talk sense into me, but neither could convince me otherwise. Or should I say…step-brother. Robert, haven't you noticed James looks nothing like me or my mother? Mummy was Daddy's second wife. Lord Robert was my stepfather."

The light was beginning to dawn on Hogan, but it still didn't make much sense. "Tell me," he said. "I want to know more."

"Lord Robert had an arranged marriage to a much younger noble-born woman. He served in WW1 as a pilot and James was already at boarding school when he was drafted. Then after the armistice, certain government officials approached him and asked if he would like outside employment."

"You mean he was a spy," Hogan replied.

"His titular seat in Parliament was excellent cover, but yes, he was quite active in intelligence. That's why it was no surprise James was tapped. Unfortunately, his wife didn't see things quite the same way. She was a member of the bright young things set and wanted to have fun. In 1920, she ran off with a Chilean polo pony breeder and lived on an estancia near Santiago for years, until she died about eight years ago.

"Mummy's middle class, from a good Kent family. She trained as a nurse in London and ended up meeting and marrying my father, who was a doctor. They served in WW1 in field hospitals together. I was born just a few months after my father died, at the end of the Spanish Influenza epidemic. The flu didn't take him, but a traffic accident outside the hospital did. I lived with Mummy in a nurse's residence. Then one day, a flustered governess came into casualty with a young man who'd fallen from of a tree outside his home in Mayfair. His father showed up later and demanded to speak to the matron in charge. That was Mummy. The man was Lord Crafton. And that's how we came to live at Catkin Hall."

Peggy continued. "Mummy's the one who insisted I go to Cambridge and earn a degree, in case I ever needed to support myself. I planned to be a language mistress at a girl's school, but then Alsdair spoke to Daddy. And I realized that James, much as I adore him, was the rightful heir to the estate. Nothing was guaranteed for me so I accepted the proposal. Mummy fought me tooth and nail until I walked down the aisle, said we could make do. But I'm the stubborn one."

"You don't have to say any more. This is obviously upsetting to you." Hogan was trying to take in everything that had been said.

Peggy's voice, which had been steady until now, began to break. "Yes, I do. I learned early on what a horrible mistake I'd made, but it was much too late. Alsdair probably fell off his horse because he was too drunk or too hung over to see straight. There was no love lost between us. And he didn't have a clue about the baby--his malaria flared up on our wedding day so he had no memory of the honeymoon, most of which he spent in hospital. But Robert, would you want a woman who has so many secrets?"

"I want the mother of my son," Hogan told her. "Peggy, I was no angel during the war, you know that. Or after I left England. But there's something about you that makes me want to build a life rather than just have an existence. I know Robert is part of that and I'm fine with it. Now I was asking. If things progress naturally between us, would you consider marriage to a plain old American? Not that I'm proposing...yet. But when the time's right, I want to."

"I said back at the hospital I'd like things to continue between us. Well, can they continue?" Peggy replied. "Is that enough of an answer?"

"For now. But you also said something else that day, if I remember correctly." Hogan's smile turned suggestive. "I know I can't properly be a man to you yet, but I hope you'll make good on that promise someday."

"Come on." Peggy got up and helped Hogan to his feet. She steered Him backwards until he was safely propped against their willow. Her voice changed to a seductive purr.

"Are you up to something?" His eyes were gleaming now, knowing a plan was afoot.

"Just leave everything to me," she commanded. Her hand slid open his trousers and reached inside until she felt something stir.

"Ohhhhhh." Hogan threw his head back and moaned, even as he drew her closer. "What are you doing, woman?" he finally managed to ask.

"Shh." Her fingers teased until he thought he might explode.

"Peggy….."

"Unbutton my dress." Her voice was a hiss against his mouth.

Hogan did as he was told. A moment later, he was delighted to find she wore nothing beneath the garment. The contrast between her suntan and the rest of her pale skin was beyond erotic.

"Love me," she begged. "Robert, we need to feel alive again. Please."

Hogan knew he couldn't refuse such an offer. Despite his injuries, he made do. Quite well.


	17. Chapter 17

I'll Be Seeing You, Chapter 17

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1. **_

_**Some mild, mild adult at the end. More serious decisions to be made in the next segment.**_

Peggy managed to slip into Hogan's room later that night for a few hours. But instead of more passion, the pair spent the time deep in conversation about things that mattered. Peggy told him all about the failed attempt at matrimony with her late husband and her doubts about trying again. Hogan reassured her about his own past and stressed that time, and his recent injuries, had made him re-think the priorities in his life and that she was one of them now. By the time daylight was beginning to filter through the open window, the couple realized there was a basis for a serious union and agreed to keep on continuing, as Peggy put it.

The pig escaped the poke, so far as Hogan's superiors were concerned, a few days later. Flaming June was now fading into a stormy July. Having been accepted by the populace as something of an item, Hogan borrowed one of the estate's old cars and took Peggy into Ely for the afternoon. The day had been drizzly and grey, but neither one cared. This was another step in their courtship--being on a date alone together, although it was still a daylight excursion.

Lucy's birthday was in a few weeks so they looked for a present at the toy store. Then they strolled around the beautiful old cathedral. Everything was going quite well as they shared an umbrella and headed towards a tea shoppe for a bite.

"Hogan? Colonel Hogan? Is that you?" An older man's voice called out inquisitively.

Hogan turned and found himself face to face with his temporary commanding officer, Major General Thomson. Acutely aware that he was out of uniform (though allowed to be, as he was on medical leave), Hogan saluted. "Sir," he responded.

"At ease, son. You're not on duty right now and neither am I." Thomson smiled and indicated the woman and girl with him. "This is my wife Helen and our granddaughter Cathy. She's visiting us for a few days while her parents have a trip to Paris."

Peggy was introduced to the group. Mrs. Thomson insisted the pair join them for tea and Hogan accepted, wondering if this was a good idea. He need not have worried. During the meal, he was pleased to see Peggy joining into the conversation and giving Helen Thomson advice on where to take her granddaughter for some interesting daytrips.

As they were leaving the establishment, Hogan's superior pulled him aside. "I'd like you to stop by after your next medical checkup. Just for a little chitchat. There are some anxious people who've been keeping tabs on you and a couple of rather interesting proposals they've sent over. I'll give you a call later in the week to confirm, how's that?"

"Fine, sir," Hogan replied. He tried not to let the thought bother him, but it looked like the time was coming to make a decision.

vvvvvvvvvv

On Friday afternoon, Hogan was trying his best to play a game of cricket with the Crafton boys when he was summoned to the telephone. Thomson's aide confirmed a lunch meeting for the following Monday. A guest would be joining them so Hogan knew this was going to be serious talk time.

"What's wrong?" Peggy asked him as he stopped for some apple juice before returning to the action.

He sat down, his expression thoughtful. "The man we met in Ely, Major General Thomson? He wants to meet with me on Monday after I have my physical. It's likely the doctor will clear me for active duty that day. So I can only conclude the brass wants to discuss what that duty will be."

Peggy slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. "Will you have a choice?" she asked, knowing that their future had been on hold as they awaited this news.

"I already was offered a promotion and a command post at the base, before I was called up. I'm more than ready to take that."

"So are we," she assured him. "But you think they might have another idea, don't you?"

"How'd you like living in Berlin?" Hogan tried to joke, but his humor was flat. "It might come down to that, provided what they offer is safe enough for a family man. I might be sent out alone."

"Robert, please don't worry unnecessarily without knowing what the situation is. That's what I heard every day during my time in London. It's a long way till Monday and I want your undivided attention until then." She let her hand drop, but not before it reached up and tucked an invisible strand of errant hair behind his ear. "Now run along and enjoy the afternoon, you're at bat soon."

Hogan leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Have I said that I love you today yet?"

"You did, and you showed me with that kiss in the larder after breakfast."

"I wanted to do more but there's something unromantic about necking next to a side of bacon. How about a moonlight stroll tonight up to the pond?"

"You and James are going with the boys to hunt for bait, remember? You've a fishing date bright and early tomorrow, so you need a good night's sleep." Peggy was being silly and knew Hogan loved it when she was. "And the moon's hardly full."

"I have excellent night vision from all those bombing runs. Could we run out of ga--er--petrol tomorrow on the way back from the show?" Hogan was being just as facetious, something they both enjoyed when spending time together.

"We could, but Harrington just filled up all the vehicles yesterday. And it's the pictures, my dear."

Hogan threw his hands up in mock despair. "How's a man supposed to rendezvous with the woman he loves these days?" he grumbled to himself, wandering towards the pitch.

vvvvvvvv

"So what kind of bait are you hunting for, precisely?" Peggy asked later that evening.

"The night blooming female," Hogan replied as he pulled her down into the grass.

"You need to be up early," she responded half-heartedly between kisses.

"I AM up," he whispered. "As for going without sleep, I'm used to it. We pilots have staying power."


	18. Chapter 18

I'll Be Seeing You, Chapter 18

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1. **_

"Your ribs are just about healed," Dr. Llewellyn announced with a smile. "And your scar is doing nicely, though keep up those exercises to prevent adhesions. I'll be the first to say, Colonel Hogan, you're one lucky devil this wasn't fatal. If we'd taken your whole spleen, that post op infection could have killed you. We barely snatched you back as it was and then remember, you're not a young man. But the angle of the puncture puzzles me. Looks like you were falling backwards, which pushed your organs upwards, and then got hit by two separate things. Normally we get a lung puncture, but your spleen got knocked instead."

"You're right," Hogan said as he put his shirt back on. "I hit some debris hard in the channel, and then someone fell on top of me, full weight." He recalled Haller's girth pummeling him down. "But I only thought I'd cracked some ribs. I've done it before enough times. Guess I knew it was something else when it hurt to breathe."

"Well, we'll keep immunizing you just to be safe. You can't risk any infection. Jolly good you didn't have any lacerations from when you went for a swim in that sewage. I must say, your convalescence seems to have agreed with you. Everything checks out just fine. I'm clearing you for active duty as of today. Are you anxious to get back to work?"

"I'm anxious, that's for sure." Hogan thanked his doctor and set off through the base hospital. He stopped at a pay phone for his weekly update to Newkirk, then continued on to the officer's club and his lunch meeting.

vvvvvvvvv

"Hello, Hogan," Maj. General Thomson said in greeting as he welcomed his guest.

"Good to see you, General." Hogan at down and regarded the third man.

"May I introduce Colonel Joseph Bensil, of the U.S. Military Attache's Office at Grosevnor Square."

"A pleasure." Hogan accepted a handshake.

The men ordered cocktails and lunch. While they were waiting for their meal, Thomson got right to the point.

"I suppose you've been inundated with opportunities, right?" he began.

"That's an understatement." Hogan had been getting quite a few phone calls the past week.

"And everyone wants you to be on their team, right? Well, what would YOU prefer to do?" Bensil asked. "We want to work with you on this."

Hogan paused a moment, reviewing past, present and future. "I've said it before, I'm getting too old for the spy game. The players and the field are different and I'm more of a liability now, not an asset. Flying is my first choice. After that, helping out with what's obviously going on east of us is a close second. So long as I'm not in the middle of it. There are others willing and qualified to take over Papa Bear's role and make it even more vital. But how can I fit in?"

"We have a plan." Thomson now took over. "As you know, the Soviets are now the major players to contend with. Sources close to Moscow say Stalin isn't at his peak, could be out of the picture any time. And the successors they've groomed are even more isolationist hardliners than he is. Things will be very bad over east for a very long time and Berlin is going to be the key. The cell you worked with is one part of a huge network the west is running. Information comes in at all hours and must be acted upon immediately, whether it's sending recon or dispatching an operative on the next transport. Someone has to oversee that. Someone closer to the action than, say, London."

"General Marsden needs eyes and ears closer to the playing field you described, Colonel," Bensil now continued. "Someone who can get information to us faster than the usual channels. A person that could, on occasion, head over to Berlin for a meeting and manage to meet up with old friends for a quick informational session. That person is you, sir. We'd like you to join our group."

"What risks are there?" Hogan asked point blank. "I'm interested, but I have my priorities."

"Officially, you'll be over operational logistics for the German sector, but more specifically, under me as my second in command for intelligence ops. You'll be based right here, helping train operatives and working with contacts as needed. We'll let you fly whenever you want. But there's the odd meeting in Berlin, every few months, for example. And exposure as being part of the attache's at-large staff. Plus all the perks that go along with it." Bensil moved to close the deal. "A promotion, naturally, as well."

"It's tempting, and much better than the other offers I've had. But I need to think about it very carefully. When do you need my answer?"

"Can you let us know by next Monday?" Thomson replied. "And if there are any questions you have, please don't hesitate to call me direct. I'll give you that information."

The meal ended on a positive note and Col. Bensil raced off to another meeting. General Thomson asked Hogan to stay behind and got coffee for them both.

"I don't know you all that well, Hogan, but I'd guess you have some concerns about safety and all?" the general asked.

"I do. This last mission nearly killed me, after the fact. The excitement of being a clandestine agent has lost its appeal. If I can't be flying, I'd like to help, but help comes with conditions." Hogan's tone was firm.

"I think we can accommodate your request. We'll take it step by step, Hogan. You won't be pushed into anything willy-nilly, believe me. You're much too valuable a man to lose. But there's one piece of advice I should give you."

"What might that be?"

Thomson smiled benignly. "A brigadier general is a public figure. Always seen at events, whether they're social or military. It might do you well to have a…female companion you can count on."

"A wife?" Hogan cut to the chase, but wasn't at all surprised.

"Yes, precisely. The right woman can make all the difference in command position. She'll be a vital part to your career, believe me. Someone like that nice young woman we met in Ely. She seems quite fond of you. Any plans?"

Hogan sipped his coffee and smiled. "Yes, sir. Good plans. But nothing too rushed. Trust me, you'll be among the first to know."

"That's good. " Thomson sighed. "Helen's been badgering me for news about you two ever since that day. She has you both married off to each other already."

"That's the idea. Eventually," Hogan replied smoothly.

vvvvvvvvvvvvv

James Crafton met up with Hogan towards the end of the afternoon, at his request.

"I'm afraid you're going to lose me to the Americans," Hogan said by way of apology as they shared a beer. "Though your offer was pretty tempting, too."

"Not those bloody spooks?" Crafton looked momentarily aghast, yet his tone was quiet. "The C.I.A, old man? That's suicide."

"Nope." Hogan shook his head. "I don't want to play their game. They're persistent, but I think you have to be crazy to work for them."

"My sentiments exactly. Not at all like my group. But tell me, who's got you, then?"

Hogan explained the position he'd been offered and his companion nodded agreeably at the description of duties.

"Pimms diplomacy, we call it," Crafton said.

"What?" Hogan liked an icy Pimms cup back at Catkin Hall, but this was a new twist.

"I do a fair amount of it as well, especially since my seat in the House gives me access to the right channels. You'd be amazed at how many meetings take place during social events like Ascot or Henley. And there's scores of less visible ones. You'll be seeing contacts in the most diverse of meeting places. I expect you'll be in high demand at Cowes."

"Cows? On a dairy farm?" Hogan wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.

"No, no, sorry. COWES, the Royal Regatta. It's held over on the Isle of Wight each August and is a top-notch spot to connect with people that have sailed in from Europe. Across the Baltic, especially." Crafton warmed to his topic. "How's your golf game?"

"Practically non-existent. But I caddied enough when I was younger to get an idea."

"We'll get you out on the base putting green, then. You can shoot, naturally."

"You mean I'm going to be shot at?" Hogan raised his eyebrows. "On the golf course?"

"Sorry, old man. I'm getting ahead of myself. It's likely you might end up in a shooting party for the 12th August with some VIP type guests from Germany. The start of grouse season, a big event on everyone's calendar. Fi's family has a lodge up in Aberdeenshire and we go up most years. Are you good with a shotgun?"

"Er…" Hogan was now wondering what duties this new posting would actually entail.

"Never mind, we'll pull some skeet at the weekend on the grounds. The boys'll be keen to join in. By the way, where will you be living? On base?" Crafton did some mental calculations. "I can't imagine them letting a general have anything less than decent digs, right? I mean, for the base."

"We haven't discussed the details, but that's what I was told. A bachelor apartment, I'll see it later this week. I'm due to take up my post a week from today officially, but I'll be commuting for now to meetings. If it's all right that I stay on. I could move into temporary accommodation over at the club today if necessary."

"No, it's perfectly acceptable, you're still our guest. "

"I'll need to speak with your sister about all this," Hogan said. "And James, when the time's right, I'm planning to ask Peggy to marry me. Is that all right with you and your family? I won't kid around here, there's a chance this assignment can have its danger. If that's a problem, please tell me so I can get on with things."

Crafton looked soberly at Hogan. "Peg's a big girl, and she's no stranger to what being an officer's wife entails, Robert. I'll let her make the final decision, but if you're asking for my blessing, you have it. Mummy's too. She's been hoping for this."

"Thanks. And I know about Robert," Hogan replied quietly. "Peggy explained everything to me in painful detail. I'm sorry to have put your family through any kind of turmoil. I hope I can make that up to all of you, but especially to him. I was stupid not to have acted on this sooner."

"Now don't beat yourself up. How could you have known? I mean, really known? Peg refused to tell you because she wasn't sure about how you'd react. She had a silly notion you'd be angry, but I thought you would have been on your knee in a second. I saw how taken you were with her. And how taken you still are. But Peg's my sister and I respected her decision, much as I thought it was the wrong one. Alsdair was a fop, though my father insisted it was the best match for her. You're streets ahead of that one, trust me. I think you'll make a good...stepfather to Robert, too." Crafton paused. "For starters."

"Will there be a problem with the MacFarlane family? I mean, isn't he the new, what's the word, viscount or something?" Hogan was worried the relations might take Robert away to Australia, where they planned to move.

"The clan's dead broke, as I said, and is selling off their estate so I doubt their title would matter when they get to Australia," James replied thoughtfully. "To be honest, Alsdair was the eldest male--but there were three sisters ahead of him and all of them had boys. I think I can work with our solicitor to an agreement so that you can adopt him once you're married to Peggy. How's that? It'd be up to you to explain things, though. His other grandparents really didn't pay much attention to staying in touch after Alsdair died. Peg insisted she would raise her son herself."

"We'll tell Robert when he needs to know. But he's pretty smart. All he'll need to do is look in a mirror in a few years." Hogan sighed. "You know, I listened to lots of airman's talk about families over the years and said that wasn't for me. My friend Peter Newkirk told me long ago that when the right woman came along, I'd change my mind. Well, Peggy's that woman. And I only wish I'd listened to Newkirk about 6 years back."

"Why's that?"

"I was about to ship out stateside, just after I said good-bye to all of you. He poured enough drinks into me to have me almost convinced I should call Catkin Hall and ask for Lady Margaret. To ask her to marry me. But I put up an argument, a pretty sound one, and he backed down. He kept me abreast of everything, if you understand, over the years. I owe him a lot." Hogan realized just how correct his friend had been.

"He sounds a rather smart chap. Why not invite him over for Sunday lunch at the house? It would be quite a good time, I think."

"I'll ask him and see what he says. Right now, we'd better head back to your house. I have some news to share with your sister. But first, I'll stop by the switchboard and book an overseas call for tomorrow afternoon." Hogan smiled sheepishly. "I need to talk to my mother."

vvvvvvvvv

A young corporal proficiently took down Hogan's details and gave him a time to be back the following day. "And this came in today's mail, sir," he added, giving Hogan a pale blue airmail envelope.

"Who's that from?" Crafton asked as they walked out to the parking lot.

Hogan studied the writing. "No return address, so I have no idea. " He turned the letter over. "It's postmarked Las Vegas, Nevada, though." He slit the envelope and pulled out a colorful postcard. It was of the new Flamingo Hotel, located just outside the little desert town.

"Good news?" Crafton said, noticing Hogan's expression change.

"Very good." He handed the card over. "It's from George Hart. Apparently, he's enjoying the desert air."

Both men realized the communiqué had come from Dr. Haller, now safely at the Nevada Test Site.

"To more successes, then," Crafton replied.

"Yeah. Lots more."


	19. Chapter 19

I'll Be Seeing You, Chapter 19

by Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.**_

Hogan accepted his posting the next day after careful discussion with Peggy. General Thomson was pleased and informed him a promotion ceremony was happening the following month and he would now be part of it. Hogan then took advantage of his last week of hospitality at Catkin Hall by partaking of as much outdoor activity as possible, apart from when meetings called him to base.

The apartment he was shown seemed adequate, if spartan. Peggy gave her word she would make it livable for him, as much as regulation allowed. With a pang, Hogan realized he would no longer see her every day, something he'd grown very accustomed to over the past weeks. He had an open invitation to visit each weekend, but that wasn't going to be the same.

James Crafton kept his promise and introduced Hogan to the intricacies of skeet shooting, on the off chance that he might be called to join a sporting party in August. Hogan learned that long walks on the moors were the perfect time to discuss things other ears should not hear, so he applied himself to Crafton's tutelage. By week's end he was satisfied with his progress, though a 12 bore shotgun was definitely not the same as a pistol.

On Saturday, Lady Camille insisted on taking the couple off to Cambridge for lunch with an acquaintance of hers, Lady Emma Chalmers. The two women were active in the local garden club and, as Lady Camille put it, "Once Emma knows something, all the right people will, too." This was yet another step in the couple's acceptance and Hogan had to admit that the meal at the Royal Cambridge Hotel was exceptional in more ways than one.

The older women set off to explore the latest exhibit at the nearby botanical gardens, leaving Hogan and Peggy to wander the backs along the river and enjoy the scenery. Peggy delighted in showing him all of her favorite haunts from her university days.

"Could we do that?" Hogan asked as a couple in a punt glided by on the river. The young man was assiduously steering the flat -bottomed boat with the traditional wooden pole while his lady looked on adoringly.

"We certainly might," Peggy replied. "But it's actually much better to hire one of the students to squire you about up. Very scenic. And then when you stop at a pub down river , there's no worry about accidents on the way back."

"What kind of accidents?" The water didn't seem that deep to Hogan.

"Oh, you know. Capsizing and such."

"But we can both swim." Especially late at night when no one's watching, he thought.

"That's not the point, your clothes are ruined by the mud." Peggy wrinkled her nose. "James and I went into the drink one year at Eights Week and it was not a laughing matter. And then you can lose the pole altogether and be stuck until someone else comes along and gives you a tow--if they want to."

"I'm sure we could find a way to pass the time," Hogan responded, stealing a kiss on Peggy's ear, careful not to get poked by the flowers adorning her straw hat. "There's an old saying we have about being stuck in a canoe without a paddle."

"Is that anything like being on a slow boat to China?"

"You might say that."

vvvvvvvvvvvv

Peter Newkirk arrived at Ely Station the next day, although it had taken quite a bit of doing to get him there.

"You're sure they want ME to come to lunch?" he'd repeated down the phone. "I'm not quite their type a' folk, mate. Might be kind of awkward, like."

"I'm sure," Hogan replied firmly. "Peggy's family isn't like the society you meet in London. Much more everyday. They like being in the country better than in the city. That's the only way I can describe it. Please come down, Peggy really wants to meet you."

"We've met," Newkirk offered, still hedging.

"I hardly call parking the family car an official introduction, Newkirk. I'll get you from the train myself. And I promise, no one will look down their nose at you. "

"All right. If I don't, you'll bother me till I finally do visit."

"No, we'll go visit you. Unexpectedly. See you tomorrow."

Newkirk had pulled out all the proverbial stops to look good for the occasion. He wore a dashingly cut new suit and his shoes were spit-shined. But he looked uncomfortable just the same.

" 'Ere," he said, offering Hogan a pretty fruit basket. "Me mate down t' market done this up. I 'ope it'll do."

"It'll do fine, Newkirk. I keep telling you, relax. Now, Peggy's brother plays the horses and he needs some tips for Goodwood. Think you can help with that?"

" 'E does, now? Well that'll make for some talk. After lunch, o' course."

"And there are three boys who'd love to hear some stories. Got any?"

"Tons, mate. But I'll stick to the cleaner ones, eh?" Newkirk was beginning to resemble his old self.

" I'll be needing a jeweler soon. I'm hoping you can recommend a good one?" Hogan gave his friend a sidelong glance, relieved the mood was lightening.

"I'll take you meself. Mr. Goldfarb's the man and I can get 'cha a great discount. So you planning t' make it official, then?"

"Not yet, but soon, so don't say anything. I'm going to propose to Peggy at the Cowes Regatta, on the final night. But I need to ask someone's permission first."

" 'Er ladyship's?" Newkirk asked.

"No, her grandson's."

Vvvvvvvvv

Hogan led his friend down the hall and out to the terrace, where he introduced him to Lady Camille.

"Charmed, madam," Newkirk responded politely , kissing her hand.

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Newkirk. Robert, have you any more friends?" she replied with a smile.

"Hello," Peggy said as she joined them. "James and the boys are out playing with the dogs, they'll be along in a minute."

"You must be Lady Margaret," Newkirk said. He took her hand and kissed it, just as he'd done to her mother. "You are every bit as lovely as Colonel Hogan described you, ma'am."

Peggy dimpled. "Why, thank you. Any friend of Robert's is welcome here. And please, do call me Peggy."


	20. Chapter 20

I'll Be Seeing You, Chapter 20

By Mistress V

_**Disclaimers as in Chapter 1.**_

Stuttgart basked in the late afternoon splendor of an October day. The autumn colors dotted the landscape, looking like a gigantic patchwork quilt from the air. Werner Klink looked out the window, pleased his flight had gotten through the Berlin air corridor without any problems. Things with the Soviets were getting frostier by the hour. It might be a long, cold winter.

But that was many kilometers away. For the next few days, it was time to celebrate his father's birthday and sample the fruits of the harvest. The wine was exceptional in the region and he looked forward to sharing a few glasses with his relatives. The plane flew in low over the airfield and made a smooth landing.

A breath of bracing, fresh air banished his flight-induced sleepiness. There was talk of new, modern types of airplanes being designed in America and elsewhere. Perhaps someday, such airliners would fly into Berlin. Into an undivided Berlin. Until then, Werner Klink knew there was much work still to be done.

He hailed a taxi and gave the driver his parent's address.

vvvvvvvvv

"Uncle, it is so good to see you. And you too, Aunt Gertrude. Always a pleasure to visit your lovely home."

"You brought your viola, excellent. I so look forward to playing a duet with you." Klink led his nephew upstairs to his study. "And tomorrow we shall play for your father, yes?"

"Of course. He will enjoy it, I'm sure." Werner placed his case on the large desk and looked around the room.

"Some schnapps first." Klink poured out two generous shots and they drank a toast.

Werner glanced at the mantelpiece, which was full of framed photos. He always did when he visited, but this time his eyes searched for something. There it was. He already knew, but now he was certain his uncle did as well. Good, he thought with a smile. This would be very, very good.

"I see you have a new photograph," he said casually. "Who are all these people? An interesting group by the looks of it. Is that not your old friend Colonel Hogan?"

"Ah!" Klink picked up the picture so they could study it more closely. "You are quite correct. Except he is no longer a colonel. He is now known as Brigadier General Robert Hogan. And he recently got married, just last month. That is his wife, Margaret. Quite a beauty, I think. And these men, they were all with Hogan and myself at Stalag 13. They came together especially for the ceremony. There is Carter, Newkirk, Kinchloe and LeBeau. The only ones missing are Schultz and myself. And my brother in law." Klink laughed. "I wish we could have attended, but it is still quite difficult to get travel permission. To think, Hogan is a general. I wonder what he is up to these days, so far as his career? Can you believe it? He is a general!"

"You could always apply to join the new armed forces that are being talked about, Uncle. They could no doubt use an experienced officer such as yourself." Werner rosined his bow and sat down in front of a music stand.

"Baah!" Klink shrugged as he got out his violin. "They have no use for old men like me. Besides, Lufthansa will be flying again before we know it. I prefer the commercial side of things. I am, after all, a businessman at heart."

"Uncle, could you get me my rosin cloth? It is right there in the compartment of my case." Werner pointed to the desk.

"Certainly." Klink opened the small storage space and stopped dead in his tracks.

For a moment, it was so quiet in the room that Werner thought his uncle had stopped breathing .Then the man slowly turned and stared at his nephew. His mouth hung open, his expression one of disbelief.

"Is something the matter?" Werner got up and joined his uncle. He could not help smiling as he saw what had shocked the man. There, on the inside of the compartment's top, was a carefully attached black and white photo. He'd taped it on that morning just for the occasion.

The image was of himself, Hogan and Johann, dressed in their Soviet finery.

Werner met his uncle's eyes and smiled, but his voice was serious. "You will tell no one. NO ONE. Especially not Hogan. Understood?"

"On my word of honor. But--"

"I cannot tell you more. Let us just say that things are status quo so far as your friend is concerned. Now, Uncle, Bach awaits us both. Shall we play?"

**_The End._**


End file.
